Tifa's Bogus Journey
by s'C'urvy 'K'at
Summary: Tifa has finally taken all she can stand with all of the fanfic cliches she has to face. Now, in her desire to 'mix it up a bit', she cuts a swath of terror and destruction through all genres, and no overused idea is safe. Up now: The Evil Tifa ARF Clich
1. Unstoppably Bad Ass Evil

Tifa's Bogus Journey  
Chapter One: Unstoppably Bad Ass Evil?  
  
Since FF7 came out, I've read my fair share of fanfiction, some good, some not-so-good. And in my time, I've also written a few, some good, some admittedly outright crappy. But in all of this, I've noticed that most stories seem to follow a sort of pattern. And as more and more stories show this pattern, it gets really cliché. In this story, our unwitting protagonist comes to see this, and ends up trying to see just how deep into the fanfiction world that clichés really go. No offense is meant to any authors or their stories. This is meant to be some harmless fun, and to be fair, I've fallen into my fair share of these clichés.  
  
A little explanation, This chapter glosses over some action story clichés, until Tifa breaks character of her 'fanfic' persona at the end of the chapter and decides to figure out just what the Sam Hell is going on.  
  
I don't own FF7, but the 'Unstoppably cool author created characters' are my property (all in good fun). And if you take offense to this story and wish to flame me, please use good grammar and spelling, and spell my pen name right. Please.  
  
.....  
  
Tifa drummed her fingers on the counter top out of sheer boredom, sighing as she blew a few stray wisps of hair out of her eyes.  
  
It just wasn't fair. Why had the rest of AVALANCHE gone off on the mysterious, information gathering mission, and just told her to wait at the bar until they got back.  
  
Yeah, that's right. She was at a bar. Her bar. And it was named "Tifa's Seventh Heaven" or "Cloud Nine" or some goofy shit like that. And she was in Nibelheim. Yes, that's right, Nibelheim. Because despite all the trauma and pain she went through in Nibelheim when Sephiroth burned it to the ground and killed almost everyone there including her father, she just really wanted to move back there, even though all the Shinra actors had given up and moved out of town. Because, after all, owning a dead-end establishment in a ghost town just really gave her a sense of fulfillment.  
  
Oh, but it wasn't really a ghost town, per se. Vincent, for the most part, chilled in the old deserted Shinra Mansion. Because, even though he had been locked away from society for thirty odd years, he just really, really wanted to leave himself in the gloom and horrible memories, and hang out down there to spite himself and Hojo, and go rummaging through all of Hojo's stuff in the lab.  
  
And he still slept in his coffin. That's right. In his airtight coffin. With the lid shut. And it didn't bother him. Why?  
  
.....Well, because I said so. And what author says goes. So take that.  
  
And Cloud lived next door, in his old Nibelheim house. Despite all of the trauma and bad memories he had from this town as well. And, for the most part, he just wandered around, fighting monsters in the Mountains with his big friggin' sword. Well, that, and trying to repent for not being to protect Aerith from being killed by Sephiroth.  
  
You would thing that his constant angsting over a dead girl would eventually clue Tifa in to the fact that he wasn't interested, but oh no. The more he ignored her, the more Tifa was determined to get him to admit his everlasting love. She had been hoping for that moment ever since they were childhood friends.....  
  
.....Even though they were really in no way, shape, or form 'childhood friends'. She was the coolest kid in town, and Cloud was a brooding loner that just wanted to fit in. And really, what better way to fit in other than trying to impress the coolest kid in town? Honestly, Cloud's attempts to impress her had all been P.R. moves, trying to boost his popularity rating by a few percent.  
  
But despite all that, and the fact that Cloud was never really sure what kind of personality he should have, Tifa still loved him(in secret of course as she didn't have the guts to tell him, or because he was Mr. Oblivious to all matters of the fairer sex fawning over him).  
  
Of course, life for Tifa could have gone smoothly like this forever, leaving her in this spiral of hopelessly unrequited romance and semi-angst, full of romantic plot devices and perhaps dream-sequence in which Aerith featured prominently. Or perhaps some sort of drug-induced freak out in which Aerith featured prominently.  
  
Sooner or later she'd try to admit her feelings to Cloud. And then, he'd either reciprocate her feelings, or he'd reject her, and she'd go and at least attempt to commit suicide.  
  
Why would she do that? Well, why not? Not like there were a lot of guys in the world that would willingly answer to her every beck and call. Because Cloud was the only one meant for her.  
  
And why was that? Well, since Aerith died, she unofficially got bumped up to 'main heroine' status, so she'd automatically have to hook up with the main hero type. That's just how it went.  
  
Well, that and, she hated on-line dating.  
  
But, alas, their routine was shattered when she got a phone call from Nanaki. How he managed to even dial a phone in the first place was a mystery in it self. And yet, what he had to say became an even bigger mystery. Hanging out in Bugenhagen's old lab and studying documents about the planet, he had discovered something terrible. Something horrifying. It was something that not even Sephiroth himself could have hoped to stand up against.  
  
Apparently, it was some unstoppable brigand of well-trained assassins or something like that, who had been operating underground for years upon years and were known and feared throughout the world, even though there had never been so much as a mention of them in the whole continuity of the Final Fantasy 7 realm.  
  
And they had their sights set on AVALANCHE. Just to prove they were superior, or because they had worshipped Sephiroth, or been part of Shinra or something. And of course, a couple of them were bound to have some sort of history with a few AVALANCHE members. Like one had trained under Zangan and wanted to beat up on Tifa because she upstaged him some years back, or one had been a former Turk with Vincent. Or they were someone's ex-spouse, or even an AVALANCHE member that was thought to have been killed in the Sector Seven Pillar collapse.  
  
Hey, these things sometimes happen, y'know. Just because it might not be very plausible or possible doesn't mean it couldn't happen.  
  
Because what author says, goes.  
  
So with things seeming problematic, Nanaki called all of the AVALANCHE members for help. And they all dropped whatever they were doing, and went to help.  
  
Barret gave up his mayorial duties in Corel as soon as he heard what was going down. Of course, he probably wasn't that great of a mayor anyways. Sure, he might be the mayor now, but he was a coal miner before becoming leader of AVALANCHE. In most cases, coal mining and Mayor-ing don't really go hand in hand. Unless had had been the union president for the Corel Coal Miners Association back in the day. But even if he was, nobody'd really care. Not too many people viewed Barret as a cool guy. He kind of just hung out in the back as a static character, spouted some ebonics that would even make Mr. T cringe, and maybe make a few 'yo' mama' jokes with Cid, maybe call Cloud a 'spiky ass', (or possibly a 'spicky ass' or 'spikey ass', depending on how the grammar and spelling were faring for him. And maybe he'd mention Marlene a few times.  
  
Cid, upon hearing of the danger, had immediately thrown down his tea, lit up a cigarette, ignored Shera, and made his way over in his totally brand new, overhauled, kick-ass airship, that he made with no resources or government funding. And he brought his whole foul-mouthed vocabulary (or his random symbol vocabulary for those with virgin ears).  
  
Yuffie had stopped categorizing her materia, and got off her ass and showed up also, with a brand new sense of camaraderie and morals. And she also lugged along all of the materia that the others had oh-so-graciously given her just to get her to shut up when they had originally parted ways.  
  
Reeve was tied up with his jobs as the new President of the rebuilt Shinra Corporation, so he sent Cait Sith on his behalf with new, improved A.I. And at some point, he also asked his personal body guards, the Turks to chip in and lend AVALANCHE a hand. Reno and Rude couldn't have agreed sooner, because Tifa owned a freakin' bar. And if there was anything the Turks liked more than their 'desperation team-ups' with AVALANCHE, it was drinking until they couldn't see. And Rude would most likely fawn over Tifa for some time, only to eventually give up and hook up with Elena, realizing that Tifa just didn't really seem to care. Well, that and Reno usually got to do all the talking.  
  
So, after joining together, sharing what information they somehow knew off-hand about this new threat, and setting up their base of operations in Tifa's Bar, they ran around and got into a few tussles with the bad guys, while having romantically-charged side stories, and introspective moments detailing a character's past just to get a better 'feel' about them and their motivations.  
  
Also, it was found out that these enemies were so ridiculously overhauled that the Knights of the Round materia didn't even dent them. Although, Yuffie kicking one of them in the groin could stop one of them cold, in a confusing, tedious and meticulous fight scene, the summons didn't do much to turn the tables, because the bad guys were just too damn _unstoppably powerful._  
  
Well, that, or the AVALANCHE guys didn't think to use summons. Or maybe they were ineffective or something. Or the materia system as a whole was shot to shit after Meteor..... I dunno. Something was up in order to make the fights rather evenly matched, or tilted in favor of the bad guys. That sort of thing is what makes for a long adventure, filled with plot twists and unspoken feelings, and perhaps some romantic entanglements.  
  
But enough with all of this, Tifa was all alone, by herself in her bar, waiting for everyone else to get back.  
  
Wait, what's this? Why was she left all alone when they were facing a new enemy that by now probably knew for sure where their base of operations was? Shoot, good question. Most likely she had gotten injured in one of their last battles, and Cloud didn't want her walking around in her injured state.  
  
Plot device if ever there was one, because, by now, that one bad guy, that had a history with her as a fellow pupil of Zangan's had probably lost to her a few times, and was probably now nursing a bruised ego, along with a sort of unhealthy love obsession for the brunette martial artist.  
  
So logically, with her all alone, he'd decide to come after her, along with the bitchy female of the group that just really had a disliking for Tifa, and wants to beat up on her simply because she has a severe dislking for Tifa. No real reason as to why; she just does.  
  
And yet, we find Tifa all alone. In her bar. Unsuspecting. And possibly injured from a battle. And wondering what it'll take to get Cloud to notice her.  
  
All in all, she was a target for "Creepy Obsessed Guy From Tifa's Past", and "Bitchy Female that Hates Tifa Just Because". And they'd beat her up handily. And then kidnap her. And Tifa would be powerless. Powerless to do anything but sit around and wait for Cloud to come and rescue her. And possibly develop feeling for one of the villains.  
  
Tifa was starting to get really bored with drumming her fingers on the countertop and looking at her reflection in the varnished wood, when the door was suddenly knocked off its hinges, and in walked two of the most unstoppable-looking author created characters marched in, glowering at her darkly. Without so much as a word, they advanced towards the martial artist, ready to dish out a good old-fashioned ass stomping in one of those obligatory 'one-sided fight scenes' that ultimately segues into the kidnapping scene.  
  
But today, Tifa was having none of it. Overwhelmed by the sheer cliché of the whole situation, she slammed her hands down on the counter, glaring daggers at the two enemies, causing them to stop dead in their tracks.  
  
She wasn't going any further with this ill-contrived plot line without a fight. She had put up with more than she could take, and she wouldn't stand for this injustice any longer.....  
  
END ONE  
  
So, there we go. In case you're confused, Tifa knows this is a highly-clichéd fanfic that she's in at the moment, and in the following chapters, she'll have to put up with figuring out that the action story isn't the only genre that's fallen into a big ball of clichés. But next chapter, she'll show those two 'author made characters' what-for. 


	2. Half in the Bag

Tifa's Bogus Journey Chapter Two: Half in the Bag  
  
Well, back with chapter two. Glad I got such nice reviews. And sorry to whoever didn't like the typos. Can't always be helped. I don't proof check my humor stories all that closely. Just pretend like they're not there. This chapter is a little..... well, its possibly tedious. Because those two 'author-created types' needed their long-winded back story and description, as is standard for this kind of stuff. And the mystery behind Tifa's chest revealed (though I feel sullied. Oh so sullied). And the title can mean two things. It could do with the kidnapping plot, or if could do with the fact that I was indeed 'half in the bag' when I wrote this (half drunk).  
  
Remember, I don't own FF7 or any characters (except for those two 'author-created types'), and no insults are intended to any authors or stories. All in good fun. Clichés happen to even the best authors. Enjoy, and please review if you want to see more(that way I know people aren't disgusted by my poking fun and just simply hit the 'back' button).  
  
..........  
  
Tifa and the two author-created characters were having themselves a good old-fashioned staredown, the likes of which had only been whispered about for hundreds of years. If the 'fic hadn't been just ground to a screeching halt by Tifa, they'd be trying to kill each other with their minds, trying to bend the other's will, or shooting lasers from their oddly- colored (yet completely naturally-colored) eyes or some seriously powerful shit.  
  
But no, Tifa had had enough, so they'd just have to settle for furious, squinty glares, waiting for someone to blink. The silence loomed, until Tifa broke through it with a mighty, furious:  
  
"What the fuck did you do to my door?!"  
  
Both "Bitchy Female that Hates Tifa Just Because" and "Creepy Obsessed Guy From Tifa's Past" flinched back at the sound of her voice, not sure what to make of her sudden turnaround.  
  
For the whole time she had been unusually docile, lovelorn and spineless, unable to train, or eat, or even take a piss without moping around about her fear that Cloud wouldn't reciprocate her feelings. And when Cloud hadn't been around, she'd mope to other characters about her 'situation' with Cloud, and then mentally berate herself over how Aerith had always been better than her. And then, in fight scenes, she'd turn out to be injured, and would need Cloud to coddle her in order to get her to make a miraculous recovery from the brink of death.  
  
"......Vell, uh, ve used our incredible powers and knocked it off of its hinges. And, now, ve are going to kidnap you, so, uh-"  
  
"What in the Hell kind of accent is that supposed to be?! And what the Hell are you going to do about my door?!" Tifa cut her off in a fury, hands clenching into tight fists, her knuckles white and shaking. She wanted to get on with the ass-stomping anyway, even though it would be one- sided. In her favor.  
  
Yes, Tifa was angry. Downright furious. She is able to show that emotion you know, and not just when mad at Cloud because he still loves a dead chick more than he loves her. Her front door was ruined. And to top it off, "Bitchy Female that Hates Tifa Just Because" had some sort of messed up speech impediment, which might have been an attempt at a Russian- type accent. But God only knows what they were aiming at for that one. Jeesh.  
  
"Bitchy Female that Hates Tifa Just Because" paused, clearing her throat delicately, tucking a few strands of her sable-streaked lilac hair away from her cat-like neon pink eyes. I know what you're thinking, and yes, she was born with that hair and eye color. And those knock-out knockers of hers were 100% real. And her measurements were 36-24-36. And she could fight, run, dodge thousands of bullets from Barret's gatling gun, climb ladders, do Matrix-type ass-kicking moves, and I'm pretty sure she could also bust out some break dancing moves while wearing a pair of four inch stilettos. And she wore an extremely tight leather outfit, and even though she got into fights lasting eight chapters and had chased our heroes around Costa del Sol, not once had she complained about chafing, swamp-ass, or even heat stroke.  
  
And I'm sure she could do some other special tricks, like summon up fire without use of flint or tinder, or possibly having some tricked-out limit attack that would totally devastate everyone in a five planet radius. Or maybe she could change into a werewolf or vampire or something cool. Because, y'know. Just because.  
  
Truly, she was an unimaginable force to be reckoned with. And yet, Tifa was in the mood to do some reckoning. Right upside her pretty, perfectly-coiffed skull.  
  
"Look, sweet-cheeks, I don't know why this door is so important to you, but, ah, we're supposed to be kidnapping you here, and maybe you should vault over the bar, knee me in the groin once or twice, then have your injury mysteriously flare up just as it seems you'll drive us away, and then let us punch you into squealing submission, then lug you back to our hideout in this big burlap sack. And then we can listen to you whine about needing Cloud to come save you since he promised when you were young that whenever you're in a bind, he'll come save you, despite the fact that for the most part, it was Barret that would pull your fat out of the fire when you landed in a tight spot." "Creepy Obsessed Guy From Tifa's Past" drawled lazily, shrugging.  
  
He was a force to be reckoned with as well. For one thing, he didn't wear shoes. Hell, he didn't even wear Ho Chi Minh sandals or anything like that. He was completely barefoot. And yet, he could bust through a window and not gouge his feet open on the broken shards of glass on the floor, and he could walk into any establishment he wanted to, and the proprietor therein would be too stunned by his awesomeness that they wouldn't attempt to enforce the 'No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service' rule.  
  
But then again, that law probably didn't even exist in Final Fantasy 7 continuity. After all, Nanaki could prance about, be a veritable man- about-town even, and never be questioned for being in any establishment, despite his surprisingly noticeable status as a quadruped. With a flaming tail. Of course, half of Barret's right arm was a gun, and yet, even that failed to pique any eyebrows. Especially blasé were the autor-created characters, who thought massive gun arms just weren't ridiculously overhauled enough when it came to ridiculously overhauled weaponry. They were all fighting with spiked flails, or crossbows, or razor fans thrice the size of their own head, or they were possibly just kicking their enemies in the chest with their bare, and terribly dirty feet.  
  
"Creepy Obsessed Guy From Tifa's Past" was quite the snazzy dresser himself. As opposed to "Bitchy Female that Hates Tifa Just Because"'s all leather ensemble, he dressed simply, in loose white slacks and an unbuttoned white duster, which revealed his rock-hard, washboard abs, riddled with mysterious battle scars. Swoon! He had long rugged hair, that wasn't quite a mullet, but at the same time it wasn't exactly not a mullet. But he managed to pull it off flawlessly all the same. He had shimmering, sparkling, enticing, glow-in-the-freakin'-dark emerald eyes, and a soul patch. I know what we're all thinking right now: He probably looks really stupid. But you all thought wrong, because before he made his debut in this action-drama, he had one of those Queer Eye makeovers. Well, that and his 'dangerously attractive' features more than make up for his humiliating attire and grooming. Beside, his suit was practically magical. He could be sucker punched by Elena square in the nose at some point, and even though the bridge of his nose would be shattered, and blood would be spurting everywhere, not one crimson droplet would sully his beloved coat. The same went for if their team tussled with AVALANCHE in the middle of a rain storm, and he got knocked down, skidding on his back across muddy cobblestones. He'd jump back up, unfazed, and with his coat and trousers white as ever.  
  
His obsession with Tifa stemmed from long ago, when he traveled with Zangan or something like that. Anyway, he and Tifa probably met, and sparred, and though he was Zangan's best pupil at the time, she handily upstaged him. And then she became Zangan's best pupil. And with that minor loss of status, "Creepy Obsessed Guy From Tifa's Past" became creepy and obsessed with dear Tifa. He followed her exploits closely, saving every newspaper clipping that he could find with her name in it, taping reports on the Shinra Nightly News that dealt with the AVALANCHE threat, and even secretly stalking her every now and again.  
  
He was, obviously, a martial artist as well. And even though he had left Zangan's tutelage the moment Tifa had upstaged him, he somehow knew all of the same techniques as Tifa, most likely due in part to his obsessive desire to know everything about Tifa. So he could do all of her moves. Even Final Heaven, though it was explicitly a Tifa-Only sort of deal.  
  
Well, okay, not all of her moves. He still didn't understand how to get a dolphin to appear for Dolphin Blow. But that was Tifa's big martial arts secret. Before she'd do her limit combo, she'd slip her unwitting target some Acid. Then, once they started trippin', she'd unleash the combo, and the enemy would 'see' a dolphin. Or possibly an orange striped polar bear, but for the most part, a dolphin. But that's not quite important now.  
  
What was important was what he was planning to do to her once they succeeded with the kidnapping. He'd probably berate her, dredge up the past, beat up on her while she was tied up and defenseless, or maybe just keep up the creepy factor and try to get frisky with her. Bom-chicka-bow- wow. Rawr.  
  
And yet, the kidnapping didn't exactly look as if it were going to go over as smoothly as it was supposed to. She seemed about ready to destroy them, and had no intentions whatsoever of getting punched into squealing submission, or tossed into a big burlap sack.  
  
"That door is important to me because it's supposed to keep assholes like you out of my bar, and out of my house! It wasn't even locked! You could have walked right in, but no, you had to be all 'unstoppably bad ass'! Now what am I supposed to do? Put up a board or something? That'll look so fucking stupid!" She raged, causing the two author-created types to exchange a glance, grimacing and shrugging.  
  
This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to care about a door. Cloud was supposed to be the only thing she was to care about. Nothing more, nothing less.  
  
"Bitchy Female that Hates Tifa Just Because" sighed and stepped closer, grabbing her by the collar of her shirt, attempting to haul her over the bar and toss her in the sack, trying to save face and end the kidnapping scene on time, so they'd be leaving approximately three minutes before AVALANCHE got back to their base of operations, and were befuddled by the destruction, and absence of Tifa.  
  
"Vell, ve're very sorry about your door, but ve, cannot be responsible for damage to your property. Ve are here to kidnap you, so kindly, get in the bag if you vill."  
  
Tifa pushed out of her vice-like grip, glaring daggers, her finger pointing at them accusingly.  
  
"I don't care if you are supposed to be unstoppably powerful. And I don't care if this is supposed to be a kidnap scene. I'm not going to get in that bag, and I'm not going to do anything else until you fix my fucking door!"  
  
"But we don't have time! And besides, destruction of your fine establishment is always the norm in these situations. You'll just have to roll with it. Now will you please just-"  
  
But "Creepy Obsessed Guy From Tifa's Past" stopped abruptly, as Tifa reached into her shirt (and apparently her brassiere), and pulled out two massive, clear, gel-like objects, dropping them on the ground with a dull splat. They appeared to be roughly the size of a human skull. And they almost looked like giant jellyfish or something. There also appeared to be a few bullets embedded in one of them.  
  
"There, I'm done. That's it. Story's over." She said simply, kicking at the two objects spitefully.  
  
Both author created types stared at the things in shock and mild disgust, not sure what to make of them. How had these two things managed to stop the plot line cold? The looked like..... Looked like.....  
  
".....Are those breast implants?" "Creepy Obsessed Guy From Tifa's Past" asked in mild horror, glancing up at her from the horrific beasts on the floor. Her shirt seemed to fit a lot more comfortably now.  
  
Tifa sighed, nodding her head in resignation.  
  
"Well, they're actually saline-filled sacs that I have to put into my bra to enhance my natural bust. You see, seven years ago, CG was kind of a tricky subject. My chest was a bit over proportioned, Cloud's torso was kind of malformed looking, and Barret was oddly disproportionate to everyone else in the world. But nobody remembers Cloud's torso or Barret's giganticism. Nobody went around on Final Fantasy 7 forums saying 'OMG d00d, Barret's ph337 r huge!!!!!!1111!!' It was all 'OMG d00d, her b00bs r huge!!!!1111!!' Ever since then, almost every plot I've been in has had me with an outlandishly large bosom. So I have to wear those to keep everyone happy."  
  
"But vhy didn't you just refuse to vear them?" "Bitchy Female that Hates Tifa Just Because" asked sympathetically, her own ample assets a curse as well.  
  
"Because that's what everybody else is doing. And nobody cares, they just go along with it, and then people think I'm a woman of few morals. I gave up arguing after a while. Besides, in these action type dilemmas, they cushion blows to the chest and are thick enough to stop bullets."  
  
Both author-created types, hung their heads, feeling really bad about themselves all of a sudden. They had never realized that Tifa (and all the other FF7 crew along with her) had had to endure a sort of 'Groundhog Day' with fan-created plotlines, having to do the same thing over and over again, with minimal alterations.  
  
"Creepy Obsessed Guy From Tifa's Past" wiped a tear from his glow-in- the-freakin'-dark eyes, throwing down the burlap sack.  
  
"I'm so sorry." He sighed in a choked voice, shaking his head. "I would have never wasted so many years of my life obsessing over you if I had known that this was what it'd come to."  
  
Tifa looked between them, the frown still tugging at her lips. She felt kind of bad for them. After all, they hadn't known any better.....  
  
"What are your names anyway? I mean, "Creepy Obsessed Guy From Tifa's Past" and "Bitchy Female that Hates Tifa Just Because" are really tedious to keep saying over and over again."  
  
"Bitchy Female that Hates Tifa Just Because" immediately perked up, striking a pose, sticking her chest out, head tossed back.  
  
"Vell, glad you asked. My name is Janichyka Ivanka Robinasayakanovich-Schweizer."  
  
"And though you're supposed to remember me from our interaction years back, I'm Drakengard Louisiana, Esquire..... The Third."  
  
Tifa rolled her eyes. Talk about over the top, tedious names. What was with these author-created types having names that were never shorter than three syllables? Sighing she glanced at them shaking her head.  
  
".....Okay. Anyways, Jim-Jam," she paused, glancing over at Janichyka, "Greg," she turned her attention to Drakengard, "I'm sorry, but I just can't put up with this crushing web of clichés any more. Sorry to put you guys out of a story, but I'm just not going to keep this charade up any longer."  
  
'Jim-Jam' and 'Greg', as they had been so christened by Tifa, merely nodded waving it off.  
  
"No problem. I didn't really feel like getting blown up in the fifth- to-last chapter anyway." 'Jim-Jam' shrugged, falling out of her pose into a slouch, kicking off her stilettos. Hey, since the story had been stopped and all, why not?  
  
"But is it really that bad Tifa? I mean, sure some stories can follow a pattern, but it can't possibly be as bad as you make it sound." 'Greg' put in, causing Tifa to shake her head, steadfast in her accusations.  
  
"Do you know how many times Cloud has done something to piss me off and cause me to run away, and I end up running into Vincent and shacking up with him? Can you guess the number of times I've had to get into a hair- pulling bitch-fight with Aerith over Cloud, in a misguided attempt at humor?"  
  
"Well, geez..... couple times?"  
  
"Hundreds. Perhaps even thousands! And I've had enough! It's not just action-drama, this whole damn system is corrupt!" She paused, glancing over at the two author-created types, seeing that they were looking uncomfortable now that they were stripped of their chance to show off their bad-assery. 'Greg' was looking at the pitch black soles of his feet in disgust, glancing around the room for a towel or something. And 'Jim-Jam' was shifting about uncomfortably, as if her outfit were chafing her.  
  
But then, an idea struck her. A grand idea. A crazy idea. She was back to feeling like her old self already. She felt great, ready to kick some ass. Maybe even ready to go jump out of a speeding train with Barret when Shinra noticed they had fake I.D. cards at one of their checkpoints. Yes, she was once again feeling like the Tifa Lockhart that almost everyone had forgotten about. The Tifa Lockhart with a spine. And reasonably sized breasts.  
  
It was time to go set things right. Time to go stop the clichés.  
  
"'Jim-Jam', 'Greg', I'm going to put some pants on, and take care of something I should have taken care of a long time ago." She announced, tugging at the hem of her miniskirt, knowing that everybody got the wrong idea about her outfit. Sure, she wore skimpy outfits all the frickin' time, but what author says, goes. She had no choice really. Well, that and she needed to be able to have freedom of movement when doing all of those kicks and matrix-type moves of her own. That, and 'modest clothing' wasn't exactly lucrative business in the heart of Midgar. Or, it was the catalyst that was used to pawn her off as the 'shifty, devious whore-type' in most of those 'Cloud and somebody who isn't Tifa' romance tales.  
  
"Something dangerous?" 'Greg' asked hopefully, tearing his eyes away from his horrible feet for a moment.  
  
"Might be, who knows. But I'm willing to take that risk. And seeing as how my door is rather..... not there any more, do you think that you could keep an eye on the place for me?" Tifa asked, casting a sidelong glance towards 'Jim-Jam' letting out a little growl of agitation.  
  
"But vhere are you going? I vant to go too. I vant to go vith you, as apology for breaking your door." She pleaded sullenly, biting petulantly at her bottom lip, avoiding Tifa's gaze.  
  
"Yeah, and if it's dangerous, we can use our unstoppably awesome powers to defend you! And if its not, we can at least find a new use for this burlap sack." 'Greg' chimed in, causing Tifa to roll her eyes and heave a tired sigh, her shoulders sagging.  
  
"I don't know you guys. Having author-created types with crazy names and even crazier powers is cliché enough here. But if I start traveling with you, it'll become really hypocritical. Trying to stop clichés with a couple of clichés tagging along after me? It just wouldn't-"  
  
"We'll fix your door for you if you let us tag along." 'Greg' cut in, causing Tifa to perk up visibly, nodding.  
  
With an offer like that, how could she possibly refuse?  
  
It was a done deal.....  
  
.....Once she put some pants on.  
  
"Hey do you think we could borrow some spare clothes?"  
  
"Ooh, and some shoes too? Please?"  
  
.....Or was it?  
  
END TWO  
  
Ah, 'Greg' and 'Jim-Jam'. They're such losers. They really just try to cover it up with their totally bossed-out strength. But we all know the truth. Not sure what I should really do with them, or how exactly I'm going to go about this now. I've got a couple ideas I could branch off too, but I'm not certain with which one I want to roll with. And just for the record, 'Greg' and 'Jim-Jam' aren't going to be doing much. They'll tag along loyally, but that'll be about the gist of it.  
  
I feel a bit sullied about the whole Tifa's breasts thing. Not always a cliché, but had to be done sooner or later. With some descriptions I've found in stories, they probably would stop bullets. Or possibly Meteor itself.  
  
Ph337. I'm not a master of leet speak, but I imagine that that might be 'feet' in leet. 


	3. Vhat Gratuitous, Violent Revenge

Tifa's Bogus Journey

Chapter Three: Vhat A Gratuitous Violent Revenge!  
  
Hey cats and kids, thanks to all of you who have reviewed. And don't worry. Tifa does dole out an ass kicking in this chapter, and the annoyance of 'Jim-Jam' and 'Greg' is cut down by eighty percent.  
  
So, here's chapter three. They get the show on the road here. Hurrah! We know Greg and Jim-Jam are mine, and nothing else save for this "stellar, original, and epic" plot. And you know what, I'll probably start getting author note clichés in here too. Ooh, scary.  
  
Remember, its all in good fun. No insults are intended.

..........  
  
".....Okay, so then, there I vas, cornered by eighty villainous volves, and they vere all snarling, and snapping their teeth at me, and-"  
  
"Volves?" Tifa asked skeptically, eyebrows up as she lifted the chopsticks to her mouth. 'Jim-Jam' was prattling on and on about all the cool stuff she had done in the past, and it was getting pretty annoying to say the least. The "every word that was supposed to start with a w now starts with a v" accent made things hard enough to follow as it was, but it was the most obnoxious thing since that wave of people that made Barret sound just like Mr. T.  
  
"Yes. Volves. More than one volf." 'Jim-Jam' replied helpfully, giving a long-suffering sigh, as Tifa had been constantly interrupting her, confused by her 'speech impediment disguised as an accent'. "You know, like dogs that live in the vild?"  
  
Tifa blinked up at the blank expanse of the ceiling, thinking to herself for a moment, before nodding finally, the meaning finally clicking.  
  
"Oh. Wolves. Gotcha. Why were you fighting wolves anyway?"  
  
"Vell, I vas orphaned at a young age, after my parents vere killed. So I vas forced to live in the woods around the Icicle Gate area. So, the volves found me one day. Personally, I thought I vas gone for, but they took me in, and I lived vith them for years, learning to survive in the vild." She explained, adding even more to her annoying back story, who nobody really cares about.  
  
For the eightieth time since they had gone into the Chinese restaurant, or rather, Wutaian restaurant, as Wutai is like the China of the Final Fantasy 7 realm, Tifa contemplated reaching across the table and jamming the chopsticks into her eyes.  
  
But then again, 'Greg' had paid for the food, and she did need to eat, as they never really had to in the duration of a plot line. Sure they could to keep up that sense of normalcy. But it wasn't required. Drinking hard liquor on the other hand, was. Especially in the long, drawn-out plots. They always needed alcohol, to take the strain off of them after one of those bone-jarringly horrific battles. That, and Tifa owned a freakin' bar. So why not?  
  
And she didn't want to be rude after 'Greg''s hospitality, and besides, he was being rather nice after all, merely sitting next to 'Jim- Jam', staring into his food, seeming very complacent with the turn of events, and thoroughly enjoying the shoes and clothes that Tifa had begrudgingly lent them. He was sitting pretty in a pair of jeans and an AFI hoodie (pointless pop-culture reference! Score!). And shoes. Shoes that god himself would have loved.  
  
And he would know. Because in the past, he had fought God. And won. Because he was that unstoppable. And everyone just had to keep being reminded of that fact. At least five times per chapter.  
  
".....I see. So, how did you keep from starving or freezing to death?" Tifa asked pointedly, waving her chopsticks towards her, a chunk of some sort of meat trapped between them. The man at the counter, who had looked at her face as opposed to her now proportionate chest, had told them they had been ordering Beef Chop Suey, but really, who knew what it actually was?  
  
'Jim-Jam' sighed easily, nodding as if it were common knowledge.  
  
"Vell, ve stuck around near towns, slaughtering livestock, catching rabbits and cats, eating vhatever ve caught. The cat vas delicious. It really tastes kind of like vhat ve're eating right now-"  
  
She didn't a chance to finish, as Tifa's chopsticks found their way into her neon pink cat-eyes, the martial artist too fed up with her and that speech-impediment thing to put up with it anymore. New door or not, she wasn't going to put up with it. She had gone easy on them last chapter. The people wanted to see some revenge.  
  
Gratuitous, violent revenge.  
  
Even as 'Jim-Jam' clutched up to reach for the chopsticks skewering her vibrantly-colored eyes, Tifa already had her by the hair, hauling her across the table, throwing her through an adjacent table, where a little old accountant was sitting, reading the newspaper (that type of guy always has to be around at least once when a fight breaks out).  
  
Not even giving her time to recover, Tifa seized her by the hair again, dragging her up into a slouched position, Tifa's grip the only thing keeping her up. Once she caught her balance slightly, Tifa let her hair go, and then brought her leg up, booting her right in the mouth, and not worrying about anyone seeing her underwear, as she had changed into that pair of pants that were necessary for this adventure.  
  
'Jim-Jam' staggered back into the service counter, grasping at her shattered jaw with one hand, swinging around blindly for Tifa with the other. The chopsticks jutted out from her face, disturbing and outlandish looking, But it just had to be done. A cliché, one-sided ass kicking.  
  
Easily avoiding her wild swing, she grabbed 'Jim-Jam' by the front of her borrowed shirt again, hefting her up bodily and spinning, throwing her towards the panes of glass making up the front wall of the establishment, allowing herself a cocky grin as she watched 'Jim-Jam' crash through the glass with a resounding crunch as the pane shattered, spraying crystalline shards over her body as she hit the ground.  
  
'Jim-Jam' lay still, save for an occasional twitch now and then, and the clenching of her eyelids, as if she were trying to blink, though blocked by the chopsticks.  
  
Tifa dusted her hands together in a triumphant manner, then simply turned, skipping across the blood speckled white tile floor back to her table, where 'Greg' was sitting, staring at her, pale with shock. Had they still been in the continuity of the plot line, she would not have been able to do that. And the fight scene would have been a lot more drawn out.  
  
And nobody would have taken chopsticks to the eyes.  
  
Ick.  
  
Tifa sat down easily, picking up 'Jim-Jam''s chopsticks and righting the carton of Beef Chop Suey from where it had been knocked over from 'Jim- Jam' getting hauled across the table, and picked out another piece of meat, bringing it to her mouth, returning to the meal like nothing had ever happened.  
  
"Hey, thanks for lunch by the way." She said nonchalantly, giving him a small smile. He merely returned it; weakly, keeping his gaze off of her, eyes darting out towards the sidewalk on the other side of the window he was sitting next to, seeing 'Jim-Jam' still passed out on the pavement.  
  
His eyes darted left and right quickly, before finally lighting on Tifa, and he forced a small smile, hoping it looked more convincing than he thought it did.  
  
"Oh, no problem. Anything for you letting us off the hook so, uh," a quick, wary glance toward 'Jim-Jam' again, "Gently. Really, you're too kind."  
  
Tifa gave a flattered smile, fluttering her eyelashes, before her attention went to their meal, and she tipped the carton towards herself, shaking the contents a little, glancing at them dubiously.  
  
"She said this tasted kind of like cat....." She trailed off, stopping mid-chew, and swallowing the mouthful of food thickly, looking as if she had just attempted to swallow a brick.  
  
"What? What's wrong?" 'Greg' asked worriedly, leaning forward out of his seat to look into the carton, seeing Tifa pull out what looked to be a piece of an animal's ear, which had a few silver hoops pierced through it, the color draining from her skin.  
  
"Oh! Ew!" She cried, blanching away from it, the thing hanging limply from her chopsticks, silver rings glinting in the light.  
  
"Oh, there's my ear!" Someone, sounding exceedingly relieved exclaimed, and Tifa and 'Greg' looked towards the voice, seeing none other than Nanaki sitting there, red-stained gauze wrapped over the little remaining nub of his right ear, along with an eye patch over his right eye.  
  
Disturbed, Tifa worldlessly unwrapped the bandage over his ear slightly, setting the ear back into place, wrapping the gauze around it, slowly pulling her hands away, jerking to catch the severed pierce as it tilted off center of its little perch, bent and cock-eyed.  
  
"What happened to your, ah, eye there?" She asked uncertainly, causing him to shrug.  
  
"Eh. Plot had me with two for a while there. So I could afford to lose this one. Now I'm back down to what I'm supposed to have. See, I came in here to pick up some Moo Goo Gai Pan, and well, the cook got a hold of me and....." He trailed off, Tifa having already seen what had happened to him, not needing further explanation of it.  
  
"You might want to get that sewn back on." 'Greg' put in helpfully, seeing the ear tilting a little more off center.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I probably should get to a hospital or something. See you around Tifa. We've got some really, really ill-conceived plot lines coming up soon." He sighed before turning, trotting away with the carton of Moo Goo Gai Pan hanging from his mouth.  
  
Staring after him, Tifa and 'Greg' dropped their chopsticks, looking sickened and appalled, seeing a few more gauze covered area's on Nanaki's body.  
  
"Let's go." Tifa ordered, her voice an octave too high, the horror of the situation creeping over her.  
  
"But what about our fortune cookies?" Greg protested, pouting. He was grossed out too, but what about the fortune cookies? They couldn't just leave without them.  
  
"Just toss them in your burlap sack and let's go!" She spat, unable to keep the edge of hysteria out of her voice. Getting their things together as quickly as possible, they all but ran from the little restaurant, wanting to get away from that little cardboard carton of Hell as soon as they could.  
  
Out on the street, they glanced at each other, both soundly uncomfortable with the knowledge that they had unwittingly partially cannibalized one of Tifa's teammates. Well, not really cannibalized him, per se, because he wasn't human. Unless things suddenly became badly clichéd.  
  
Shuddering, Tifa glanced over at Greg, seeing him gnawing at his lower lip uncomfortably, teeth raking low enough to graze over the top edge of his soul patch, as if he was worried that there could be some remnant of that horrid meal left on his mouth.  
  
"Let's get out of here and," A quick swallow, trying to get the taste out of her mouth "Get to work huh?"  
  
"Okay, where do you want to go first?" He offered, extending his arm, crooked at the elbow, offering her to take hold of it.  
  
Because, after all, they'd have to do an awful lot of 'hopping' quickly going from place to place as situations demanded. Luckily, through 'Greg''s latent, bad-ass powers, he could 'hop' them instantaneously from one location to another in the time it took to make a little page break (the little doo-dads separating one scene from another).  
  
Tifa threaded her arm around his, sighing tiredly. Now the real challenge would start.  
  
"Ah, geez. I don't know..... Vincent angst/romance?" She suggested, wanting to start off with a relatively easy one. She knew the pattern, and she already had some plans to steer clear of it.  
  
"We're there." 'Greg' nodded back, tightening his grip on her, and snapping his fingers, 'hopping' them there on the double.  
  
And poor, poor 'Jim-Jam' was still laying on the pavement, out cold and bleeding from the eyes and face.  
  
Oh well. At least they wouldn't have to put up with her obnoxious accent anymore. Her jaw was broken after all.  
  
END THREE  
  
Chopsticks in the eyes! Oh ye Gods! Hate to say it, but over the top crap like that does happen. Sad, but stuff like that is out there. But I don't think it was ever chopsticks to the eyes. Yet.  
  
Poor 'Jim-Jam'. Not that anyone really cares. There's the what-for that Tifa didn't dole out on them in chapter two. We all knew it was coming sooner or later. And as random as it seemed, there is a reason for that whole 'Nanaki and the Chinese Restaurant' thing, other than getting them out of there. But just wait and see.  
  
And please review to let me know what you think. Reviews are exactly what booted 'Jim-Jam' from the group. Though, 'Greg' will be sticking around, not doing much, except for busting Tifa out of a few tight spots and looking for new uses for his burlap sack. Sorry if you hate him.


	4. The Vincent Cliche Part One

Tifa's Bogus Journey

Chapter Four: The Vincent Cliché Part One  
  
Couple of things before I start. Question for Malz. Meatshield? Where'd you come up with that one? I thought it was hilarious. Though I doubt George Carlin or a phone booth will be in it. Though there was a slight Bill & Ted reference in there (Drakengard had the title of Esquire). And for those that missed it, the Monty Python reference was the reference of 'Jim-Jam' being "able to summon up fire without use of flint or tinder" (Tim the Enchanter from MP& the Holy Grail could do that).  
  
And Firefly99, I know which story you're referring to. I happened upon it the other day, and my cliché senses were going off left and right. Though it did warrant a good chuckle.  
  
On with the story..... Only 'Jim-Jam' and 'Greg' are mine..... all in good fun..... etc.  
  
..........  
  
"So, you're sure he's here?"  
  
Tifa heaved a sigh, rolling her eyes towards 'Greg' as she slid her arm from his.  
  
"Where else would he be? I mean, unless he's possibly moping around in Lucrecia's Cave, he's bound to be here..... Unless he's in Rocket Town, shacking up with Cid."  
  
"No, I don't think he'd be there," Greg answered, still staring dubiously at the mansion in front of them "I mean, when you said Vincent angst/romance, I assumed you meant Vincent and yourself, not Vincent and Cid. So, I doubt he'd be in Rocket Town."  
  
Tifa nodded, his reasoning making a surprising amount of sense. Though, there was always the chance that Vincent could have moved on with his life, pushing his past aside, rather than dwell on it incessantly.  
  
.....Ah, who are we kidding?  
  
Glancing at 'Greg' who motioned for her to lead the way, she strode purposefully up to the mansion, boots crunching over the decaying leaves and dead plants choking the cobblestone path. Making it to the door, she grasped the handles, ready to pull them open with a flourish. However, a hand on her shoulder stopped her.  
  
"Isn't it kind of rude to just go walking in there? I mean, that Vincent guy is all 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre' as it is, so wouldn't that kind of piss him off?"  
  
Tifa rolled her eyes, turning to face 'Greg' her anger spiking at his comment.  
  
"Oh, and I'm sure it would be perfectly acceptable to just go and smash it clear off its hinges!" She replied hotly, causing a dusky red to tint his face in embarrassment. Turning back to the doors with a sigh, she once again grasped the handles "Besides, this is what I always do."  
  
"Exactly!" Greg sighed, wresting her hands from the ornate brass door handles "If you want to change things up, you'd better start off on the right foot."  
  
.....Stupid 'author-created type' and his stupid powers of awesome deductive reasoning.....  
  
Without waiting for her to answer, he reached out and pressed the doorbell, hearing a piercing shriek from within the mansion. Tifa glanced at him dubiously, her pride a little hurt by being shown up by 'Greg' this early on. She was certain she could have done this herself. Though she couldn't afford to get careless this early on. Not while she still had a lot of work ahead of her. And if 'Greg' could come to her rescue every now and then, all the better.  
  
Though she'd secretly hate herself in the morning for needing his help. Stupid 'author-created' tag-along.  
  
So they waited for Vincent to come to the door.  
  
Waited, and waited, and waited and.....  
  
"Hey, how long's it been?"  
  
"Uh..... seventeen minutes."  
  
"Ring the doorbell again. Maybe he was in the shower or something."  
  
"Do you guys even need to take showers? I mean while the plot is rolling along and all that?"  
  
Tifa paused at the question, her mouth half opened to answer, before she clapped it shut, drumming her fingers against her jaw in deep thought.  
  
"I don't think the mansion even has a bathroom now that you mention it....." She muttered, eyes going back to him "Well, just ring the doorbell again. We can wait all night if we have to."  
  
..........  
  
"Ace high. What do you have?" 'Greg' sighed; bored out of his mind.  
  
"Pair of Queens. I win again." Tifa muttered, tossing her cards down, cupping her hand around the small pile of pennies, sliding them towards her side of the front step.  
  
They had opted to wait until Vincent showed up. And wait they did. Having been relatively sunny when they showed up at the mansion, the sun was now dipping below the mountains, shadows falling upon the two of them, camped out on the front steps of the Shinra Mansion, playing hand after hand of Poker in an attempt to alleviate their boredom.  
  
Besides, AVALANCHE would often play poker to pass the time, and never tire of it, only exchanging good-natured jibes when one of them was really cleaning up.  
  
Alas, such was not the case for Tifa or 'Greg', who were tired, bored, and getting more than a little bit cranky with having to wait so long. And 'Greg' was already down three thousand dollars, despite the two of them only using pennies to bet with.  
  
They had given up their vigil on the steps for a few minutes, just to run back to Tifa's house use the bathroom, make some coffee, and get a jacket and scarf for Tifa, who was feeling the drop in temperature, only having a tank top on. And those arm warmers. But now, with her spiffy denim jacket and wool scarf (which both oh-so-stylishly matched that pair of pants she had put on earlier) she was okay to wait a little longer for Vincent.  
  
As long as 'Greg' didn't get as annoying as 'Jim-Jam' had. But he seemed to know his place in this 'partnership', and had spinelessly adapted to it. Hell, he had broken character as well, and wasn't being all "Creepy Obsessed Guy from Tifa's Past". Well, at least he wasn't being obsessed anyway.....  
  
"Are you sure he's even in there?" 'Greg' finally asked, leaning back and peering into one of the darkened windows, his glow-in-the-freakin'-dark eyes straining to make out any sign of its possible inhabitant.  
  
"Look, there's a one in eighty seven chance that this is a story where he's moved on with his life, and will unexpectedly come to my rescue when I get into a tight spot after I thoughtlessly run off after a fight with Cloud. And you were pretty confident you wouldn't hop us to the wrong place. So-"  
  
There was a creak as the front doors shifted inward a little, as if someone had been going to open the door, but paused at hearing the voices outside.  
  
Tifa was no fool. She knew it was Vincent. And she knew she had to get 'Greg' out of sight, lest that screw things up way too much. She sprang into action, shooting her foot out, metal-plated boot catching 'Greg' square in the chest, knocking him backwards into the mass of creepers and brambles that overran what had once been a garden, hearing him land with a thud, and the stomach-turning crunch of what she tried to assure herself were dried twigs. She also swept the cards and more than three thousand dollars worth of pennies onto him, trying to hide them from sight so Vincent wouldn't notice anything amiss.  
  
'Greg' was moaning, both in pain from getting kicked into a bramble patch, but also at the indignities of such an action, and the fact that his chest was being crushed by over three thousand dollars in pennies.  
  
Leaning down towards him, Tifa cast a quick glance towards the door, a finger to her lips as she tried to quiet him down.  
  
"Shh, shh! Sorry, sorry! I can't let him know you're here. You might scr-"  
  
The door creaked open, and Tifa straightened up immediately, spinning towards the door, hands behind her back, a bright (and hopefully convincing) smile plastered on her face in an almost appalling rictus as she tried to make it seem like she hadn't been camping out on his front porch with a man that she had just unceremoniously booted in the chest.  
  
Vincent stood there, eyeing her warily from over the high collar of his red cloak, blood red eyes narrowing at the intrusion upon his property. He hated visitors. Abhorred them. Drove them away as fast as he could.  
  
And yet, at night, he would lay awake in his air tight coffin, wondering why he was so desperately lonely.  
  
Glancing back and forth, eyes sweeping around for a moment before settling back on Tifa, he heaved a great sight of contempt.  
  
"Is there someone else out here?" He asked accusingly, eyes darting let and right again, Tifa's forced smile faltering slightly.  
  
"Oh, no no no! Absolutely not! You know that whenever I come running to you, I always come alone, and never remember to pack an overnight bag or anything." She said coyly, expertly dodging the question.  
  
"You should leave." He spat almost immediately, eyes narrowing further. "I have to go out tonight, as I have to go out every night, and quench the gnawing pain of the monsters within me by feasting on the souls of sinners. For it is my eternal curse, for failing to protect the woman I loved fr-"  
  
Tifa cut him off with a contemptible sigh of her own, eyes rolling in a quick sweep, her left hand doing that little 'talking' motion, as she was tired of hearing the same old story. He brought it up at least once a conversation.  
  
Brief Interlude  
  
Barret: Gee, sure is a nice day, huh Vincent?  
  
Vincent: Truly beautiful. Just like my beautiful Lucrecia.....who I failed to protect..... Oh, my life is shit and I'll never find true happiness, and I must spend my life atoning for all of my sins, which will never be cleansed from my soul and-  
  
Barret: Yo man, don't that cloud look kinda like a duck?  
  
Vincent: .....Nah, more like a goose, I'd say.  
  
Back to the story at hand  
  
"Oh, boo hoo. All that again? You had more than thirty years to get over it. Really now. Was a woman that would marry Hojo really worth it? And didn't you notice that the ghost in that cave is really just an animatronic figure? Reeve made it as a joke, and really, to be honest, we were all laughing behind your back when you were begging it for forgiveness."  
  
"Animatronic?" He gasped in bewilderment, the revelation coming like a slap in the face. Though it did explain that time when sparks started shooting out of her eyes, and she kept repeating the same thing over and over again.  
  
"Mm-hmm. And we all know you don't have to go out and quench your monsters' thirst for blood and souls. It was never brought up, or even hinted at in the continuity of the game. It was a Limit Break for cripes sake. Nanaki had Howling Moon, and you don't see him going all nuts during a full moon in every plot."  
  
"Well, to be honest, I'm not entirely sure if anybody cares about Nanaki enough to examine that possible aspect for a plot line."  
  
"Right, right." Tifa nodded thoughtfully. "Oh, but, uh, anyhow, let's get back on track here. You're mopey, and I'm that little ray of sunshine that just barely manages to worm its way into your heart unexpectedly."  
  
Vincent nodded, clearing his throat and brushing his hair back quickly, trying to get back into character.  
  
"What are you doing here?" he asked flatly, point blank at her, eyes narrowed.  
  
Though despite his uncaring, outward appearance he was inwardly excited beyond belief. Thank God Tifa was a rather attractive lady. Emphasis on lady. People in town were starting to talk. The term 'Poncy Fop' was becoming all too synonymous with the name "Vincent Valentine".  
  
You could tell rumors were bad, when they were spreading through a friggin' ghost town.  
  
Ah well, maybe now he could quell those rumors, and be able to stop getting into those situations where he had to tell people that Lucrecia wasn't imaginary; she was merely a spectre of the woman he had once loved, yet had rejected him for some pencil-necked geek, that ended up screwing him up beyond belief.  
  
Vince, buddy, you sure Lucrecia was all that great of a catch in the first place?  
  
"Oh, I was just in the neighborhood, you know, being one of the only three inhabitants of this cozy ghost town besides you and Cloud, and, well- "  
  
"Let me guess. Cloud broke your heart because of his unyielding love for a deceased woman, and in your distraught depressed and possibly suicidal state, you've decided to seek comfort in the only person with a shittier love life than you?" He guessed in a bored tone, rolling his eyes.  
  
"No. I-"  
  
"You found out Cloud was cheating on you, and in your rage you came running out here despite unheeded danger, now you need me to protect you from something or someone, and in the process attempt to get closer to me and help heal your deep emotional wounds with my assistance?"  
  
"Erm, not quite....."  
  
"Some shit hit the fan in regards to Cloud, and now you want to move into the mansion despite the wary reactions of all of our old teammates just so you can waste away in the mansion because you know I'm a miserable bastard and don't care about your or your rapid downward spiral, and you want to share in the palpable, encroaching misery that surrounds this fine establishment?"  
  
Tifa rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest and muttered under her breath. Undaunted, Vincent reached back in the recesses of his 'situational memory bank' grasping for one of the possible reasons Tifa was there. He had guessed, and missed, three of the main reasons she could have been there, so maybe there was a rather obscure, fourth, possible reason for her presence.  
  
"Cloud has gotten distant and weird towards you, and you've become intrigued with me, and after a while of hanging around me, you develop strong feelings for me, we have our emotional ups and downs, I deflower you, and then we have more emotional ups and downs when you think I don't care for you in the least, though it turns out that all along I did love you, but felt unworthy, as Hojo turned me into a monster, undeserving of the love of such a fine-"  
  
"Shut up and listen to me you Poncy Fop!" Tifa snapped, causing Vincent to flinch back visibly, as if he had been slapped across the face.  
  
So even Tifa had heard the rumors.....  
  
Though, since she and Cloud were the only two other inhabitants of ghost-town Nibelheim, there was a 50-50 chance that she had actually been the one to start that 'Poncy Fop' rumor.  
  
"Look, I just came to ask you that....." She stalled, biting her lip uncertainly, not sure what to say. It would have to be something original.....  
  
"Well? I'm a busy, bitter-hearted man. Make it quick if you would." He sighed, his pride stung.  
  
"My door's broken, y'see, and I was uh, wondering if I could just steal one for a few days, until it gets replaced." She explained with a nervous giggle, pointing back over her shoulder, towards the gaping doorway in question.  
  
Vincent stared at it, mouth set in a grim line.  
  
"It's a sin to see a door as nice as that to have gone to such waste- "  
  
"How in the Hell is that a sin?" Tifa asked incredulously, rolling her eyes.  
  
"Well, I-" Vincent paused, blinking, trying to collect himself. "I don't know."  
  
Tifa smiled triumphantly at her victory in their verbal sparring, and breezed past him into the Foyer of the Mansion, seeing that everything was still in a state of disrepair, dusty as Hell, and the silent Mansion was lit with nothing but the warm glow of candle light. She walked around the main hall slowly, taking in her surroundings with faint distaste.  
  
"Vincent, would it kill you to fix this place up a little? I mean, it wouldn't be that hard to get a mop or a vacuum cleaner and run it over the floors every couple of weeks. Or maybe patch up these floors in the weak spots....." She made a point of noisily pulling her leg free from where her foot broke through a weak spot in the warped, rotting floorboards, "And why is this whole place lit up with candles?"  
  
Vincent sighed, shutting the door and resigning himself to the fact that he'd have Tifa as a houseguest now. He'd just have to grudgingly endure it, until they ended up falling for each other.....Which would probably be a few chapters from now.  
  
"Look, Tifa, you know I don't hold a real job. You kicked me out of your bar after I tried paying you with Monopoly money four nights in a row. I spend all my time alone moping around in the basement laboratory, reading up on Hojo and what he's done, even though it'll do absolutely nothing to improve my current situation, nor erase the scars of my past."  
  
"That doesn't answer my question."  
  
Vincent gave a long suffering sigh, rolling his eyes heavenward.  
  
"I told you, I don't hold a real job. They cut off my electricity, water and phone line."  
  
"First off, there's apparently no running water in this mansion in the first place, and second, you're so antisocial that you don't even use a phone, save for that brief stint when you made all of those 'psycho killer' prank calls to upset Yuffie." Tifa shot back, sighing.  
  
"Well, okay, but I still don't have any electricity." Vincent huffed crossly, scowling from behind the collar of his red cloak. Despite it being however many years it had been since they had last gotten in touch with one another (even though she had just recently kicked him out of the bar for that Monopoly money scam), Vincent was still wearing that 'Fancy- Pants British Techno Goth Industrial Vampire' look, as if his closet was chock full of nothing but red capes, late '80s style bandannas, double breasted shirts, and pants that were meant to be tucked into his boots. Come on, no matter how cool Vincent is, and no matter how hard he's rockin' that look, it honestly looks questionable and silly. Especially if he goes parading around in broad daylight.  
  
.....Though I can't really even make fun of that being cliché. After all, he is dressed like that in Advent Children. And in Advent Children, he is prancing around like that in broad daylight. And he doesn't age.  
  
Way to suck the wind outta may sails Square-Enix. So much possible material to run with right there, and yet.....  
  
Picking up a candelabrum, Vincent stepped by her, motioning for her to follow as he made his way up the stairs.  
  
"Come along Tifa. Perhaps the answer to your question, and the soothing of my grief-ridden soul can be found..... in the basement." He sighed in his drab monotone, holding the candelabrum up higher, casting the wavering light haphazardly through the darkness, sending shadows dancing across the floor. Because where Vincent was involved, the shadows always ad to be doing something elegant. Like 'dancing across the floor'. Because Vincent is apparently a really cultured guy. I bet he reads The New Yorker, and gets a kick out of that high-brow stuff.  
  
Tifa sighed, rolling her eyes again as she tromped up the stairs after him, glancing toward the window and motioning for 'Greg' to hurry up and get inside.  
  
Going down into the basement with Mr. Miserable was probably a really bad idea. Really, really bad. After all, there were plenty of doors upstairs that she could take back to use, and maybe reward him with a little smooch on the cheek. That could qualify for the romance. And Vincent was always in some sort of trumped-up angst scheme.  
  
If she struck now, she could easily end this and attempt to cut her losses.  
  
But no, he was already halfway down the basement steps, and she knew awful, ill-contrived plot devices would abound, and she would have to help Vincent through. It would cement their bond as friends.  
  
.....And perhaps more.  
  
At some point.  
  
Picking up her pace, she started down the stairs after him, cursing to herself.  
  
"Okay, fine. But there is no way I'll let you do me on top of, inside, or anywhere near that coffin of yours!" She called down to him, hoping to make herself, and her intentions clear. She was definitely trying to steer clear of any lemony-situations this time around.  
  
"No problem Tifa. There's a surgical table in Hojo's Lab. It has restraints and everything."  
  
Well, that was certainly..... non-clichéd.  
  
And utterly creepy.  
  
Tifa managed to bite back the scream that was threatening to tear from her throat, the noise stifled into a high keen of rage. She wrung her hands as if physically sullied by hearing such a thing, and then threw punches, swinging at the empty air to try and dispel her sudden burst of rage.  
  
Ew. Ew. _**EW**_!  
  
Sure Vincent was often creepy and weird to begin with. But that, **that **was just too much. Though creepy, bondage-loving Vincent was not a breakthrough characterization she really wanted to deal with.  
  
Steeling herself, she took a deep breath, swung her scarf back over her shoulder defiantly, and made her way down the steps, determined to keep her new, stylish, and unrevealing outfit firmly in place, and away from Vincent's groping claw-like thing.  
  
What had she gotten herself into?  
  
END FOUR  
  
Well, there we go. Part One of the Vincent cliché. Eek. Part Two will be coming up soon, and we'll see how Tifa fares in this foray into cliché-breaking. And there will be no creepy bondage. I tried to stay with the whole 'Vincent being creepy-weird' aspect that he's normally seen in.


	5. The Vincent Cliche Part Two

Tifa's Bogus Journey

Chapter Five: The Vincent Cliché Part Two

Before I begin: Tifa's attack on 'Jim-Jam' in chapter three wasn't meant to show some side of cruelty to Tifa. 'Jim-Jam' is just too friggin' annoying (and horribly featured) for anyone to put up with. And besides, there was a pretty good reason for that happening. It'll pop up in a later chapter, so just wait and see.

You know guys, I'm kind of curious. Janichyka ('Jim-Jam'), and Drakengard ('Greg') are pretty dumb, lame, stupid, etc. names for such 'unstoppably bad-ass characters', though I admittedly meant to make them as stupid as possible. So here's my little question of the day: What is the strangest, worst, or funniest name that you've seen an original character have in a serious fanfic? Any fanfic. If you've got any real doozies, drop it with a review (along with the title of the story and what series the fanfic was from). I'll see what you guys can dig up, and if there any ones that exceedingly tickle my fancy, I'll write a custom (hopefully non-cliché) ficcy for whoever submitted it. As is quickly becoming the tagline for this 'fic: it's meant to be all in good fun. Though it can't always be fun when it takes five minutes to say a character's name. Because honestly-

_-Intermission-_

_Cid: All right Jerrahalresianedrellindre! The gig is up!_

_Barret: Shit man, how'd you even manage to pronounce that name? I can't get past the third syllable!_

_Cid: I practiced! Now come on, Jerrahalresianedrellindre! I'll tear you a new ass!_

_Jerrahalresianedrellindre: I bet you can't say it again! Bet you can't say it three times, fast!_

_Cid: I bet I can!_

_In the span of time it takes him to say it three times, fast, Barret gets bored, gives up on the battle, goes and makes himself one Hell of a sandwich, comes back, gets bored again, and decides to go see how Cait Sith, Tseng, and Zack are faring in their battle against the even more unstoppable Sharramannakhandrachandrienkhuvolach. I think she's supposed to be Hindi or something._

_Tseng: We're doomed! We can't pronounce a name like that!_

_Zack: What do you care? You're not even supposed to be alive!_

_Tseng: Neither are you!_

_Zack: Touché._

_-End Intermission-_

There. And there's a clichéd, horribly long author's note. Huzzah huzzah!

'Jim-Jam' and 'Greg' are mine. Everything else isn't. It's all in good fun.

..........

"Uh, really, Vince, can we go back upstairs? There was a door up there that really caught my fancy, and, uh..... the further away I stay from the restraint table, the better." Tifa grumbled, realizing that Vincent wouldn't heed her whiny protests. And yet, she tromped after him down the stairs, the dim light from his candelabrum the only thing she could-

_Whomp_

One curiously placed, italicized sound effect later, and Tifa found herself on the ground, the victim of the old 'trip-on-the-broken-bottom-step-and-fall,-only-to-land-on-top-of-the-rather-dashing-man-ahead-of-you-for-some-good-old-fashioned-romantic- tension' pitfall.

And, lo and behold, Tifa found herself sprawled unceremoniously, yet attractively on top of Vincent, her forearms braced on either side of his head, his hands resting on her hips from his trying to catch her fall. Despite the candelabrum having gone out when Vincent dropped it, they could still see each other perfectly in the dark, question of an alternative light source be damned.

They stared at one another for agonizingly long moments, both afraid to speak, as if it would ruin the moment that had come unwittingly upon them. Slowly, tentatively, Vincent leaned his head up slightly, eyes on hers, as he brought his mouth up towards hers, their lips a hair breadth apart-

"See what I mean about the floor boards? You really need to get this place fixed up." Tifa sighed, shattering the sexy atmosphere like a brick to the window that was metaphorically Vincent's chance to score.

But Vincent, undaunted, didn't answered, eyes narrowing slightly.

"I'll get you fixed up....." He murmured suggestively, trying again for a kiss, so he could put an end to the almost stifling unresolved sexual tension that had been brewing between them since...... well, since they fell suggestively onto the floor.

But Tifa reared back again, just out of his grasp, her forehead crinkling up in shock and mild horror.

"Sorry, but just what freaking kind of pick-up line is that supposed to be? I've heard some lame attempts in my time, but that has got to be up there among the worst I've ever heard." She sighed in exasperation, pushing herself up, backing away from Vincent.

Miffed, he sat up slightly, leaning on his hands, staring at her coolly.

"Need I remind you that I'm a misanthropic loner that lives in a basement? And that I'm rockin' that late eighties goth look and persona? Cut me some slack here." He bit out mopily, pouting from behind the collar of his cloak, averting his eyes from Tifa's bemused face.

"Oh come on Vince. Even a 'Hey baby! Can I see if your tits are real?' would have been better than that. No wonder you couldn't get anywhere with Lucrecia."

At the mention of his former infatuation, Vincent hunched forward, folding his arms and scowling sulkily at her.

Oh ho! The angst!

"At least Lucrecia would wait until I left the room before she and Hojo started making fun of me. I never was great at picking up chicks....." He sighed melodramatically, hands going up to his face, trying to shield himself so Tifa wouldn't see the shame burning in his face. Yes, shame burning so bright that she would have been able to see it, even without an alternative light source.

Tifa sighed, rolling her eyes, before bending down to his level, reaching out to awkwardly pat him on the shoulder in a half-hearted gesture of reassurance.

"Oh, come on Vincent, don't get upset like that..... No seriously, don't get upset like that. I'm sick of it." She sighed, rolling her eyes. She jerked back in surprise as Vincent suddenly bolted up into a standing position, glancing at her coldly, back into 'misanthropic loner mode' full-blast.

"Forget it. This act of rejection only serves to further freeze a shell of bitterness around my cold, dark heart." He huffed, grabbing the candelabrum back up, which, oddly enough, was lit up, despite having gone out when it had been dropped.

What. The. Hell.

Soon, they'd probably be breaking out of a prison cell, unarmed, yet when they run into guards, they'll be able to pull out their weapons, despite having them confiscated five chapters before. Or maybe she'll toss her Odin Materia off to Yuffie, and then be able to turn around on a group of enemies and Gunge Lance their sorry asses.

Nope, nothing unusual there.

"Follow me," He continued indifferently, motioning stiffly with his golden claw, not bothering to look back over his shoulder at her, as if confident she would indeed follow him. "The sooner we get this situation..... tied up, the better."

Tied up?

Oh, Mother of.....

Biting back another squeal of disgust, Tifa clapped her hands over her mouth, biting her tongue in horror at Vincent's retreating form, shaking her head slowly in a silent, desperate refusal.

However, thumping, erratic footsteps coming down the steps caused her to turn, catching a glimpse of something glow-in-the-freakin'-dark just as-

_Whomp_

Tifa landed harshly on her back on the ground, arms splayed out at her sides, as she found herself staring up at a sheepish 'Greg', who was laughing haltingly, nervously, and trying to do anything but be sprawled out on top of Tifa.

But, unfortunately for him, that's exactly where he was.

The 'trip-on-the-broken-bottom-step-and-fall,-only-to-land-on-top-of-the-rather-dashing-man-ahead-of-you-for-some-good-old-fashioned-romantic- tension' pitfall strikes again! Only Tifa doesn't really count as a 'rather dashing man'. But, y'know, aside from that, it's the same pitfall.

Canon-romance fans were going to tear him a new ass if anything even remotely spicy glimmered between them.

But it was almost a given that something spicy would happen. 'Greg' was just so dreamy, so unstoppably cool and, oh, what a fucking Mack-Daddy.....

Rawr.

"Tifa?" He started hesitantly, shifting his hands from where they were braced near her shoulders, leaning in close, his 'sort of mullet' flopping down into his eyes, some errant strands tickling along Tifa's pale brow, causing her to flinch slightly at the light, tickling touch.

"Yes?" She replied in an equally hesitant tone, staring at him, claret eyes wide and beseeching, waiting expectantly for him to continue. Her lips parted ever so slightly, and her breath hitched in her throat, waiting for him to say it, to admit what he felt.

'Greg' leaned in closer, so close that their lips were almost touching, his glow-in-the-freakin'-dark eyes boring into hers, as if looking into her very soul. Who knew, that could have been another latent skill of his. They were just cropping up left and right.

"I, uh....." He paused uncharacteristically, blinking and swallowing heavily, as if trying to find the right words. "I think I skinned my knee."

Way to go 'Greg'! Kill that possibly romantic moment!

Tifa sighed, rolling her eyes as she bodily forced him off of her, climbing to her feet and pulling him up along with her.

While he inspected his poor knee, Tifa was staring towards the door that Vincent had disappeared into, tapping one long, tapered finger against her chin. Yes, her fingers were smooth, and elegant, and perfect. Because that's just how Tifa was.

And, she was also apparently good at quickly formulating plans. Plans that would work, and go flawlessly, despite their being no discussion or briefing of it.

Vincent had claimed that he had a veritable wall of ice surrounding his heart, right? We-hell then, she was just going to have to melt it.

As always. And then Vincent would probably announce his undying affection for her, and she'd do the same, only syrupy sweet and spinelessly.

How did everyone seem to forget she had a spine? She had to have something back there to hold up those massive saline-inserts she had been saddled with. Ah, geez.

"So, how ya doing with this one, Chief?" 'Greg' asked, biting his lip as he tried to cope with the unbearable pain ripping through his left knee. Getting booted in the chest by Tifa, and then getting swamped beneath a veritable mountain of pennies didn't seem to leave him any worse for the wear, though the skinned knee seemed more than he could handle.

Ah ha! So perhaps 'Greg' had a weakness after all.....

.....Inconsistent characterization.

"I want to drink bleach and slit my wrists in a bathtub already." She sighed, shaking her head.

"You can't give up now! You've barely started!" 'Greg' cried stalwartly, shaking his head to try and deter her from her morose thoughts. ".....You'll have to get back to your place first anyway. There's no bathtub, and Vincent probably doesn't have much in the way of cleaning products anyhow."

Tifa rolled her eyes, muttering something decidedly cruel under her breath, scowling.

"I'll keep that in mind. Anyhow, I need to find a way to melt his icy heart, and I'll need to do it fast. Apparently, our attraction is starting to manifest, and he wants to, uh, consummate it in the most unsettling way imaginable."

"Kinky bondage on a restraint table?" 'Greg' immediately guessed, causing Tifa to nod in response, before she stopped, head whipping towards him almost inhumanly fast, staring at him in shock and mild horror, wondering just how the Hell he could have guessed that was the situation.

But then again, he had those awesome powers of deductive reasoning, as displayed last chapter.

"So I'll have to think of something. Something....." She trailed off, as one of those memories hit her.

You know, one of _**those**_ memories, which really has nothing to do with the progression of the plot, but it just so happens that events in the memories have something in them that can help Tifa out with the situation at hand. Also known as a 'gratuitous plot device'.

_Memory_

_"Hey Cid." Tifa greeted warmly, making her way towards the shadowed form of the Tiny Bronco, nestled in along the sandy shore, light wave lapping at the bottom of the crippled sea-plane. Despite it being the middle of the night, she was looking collected and radiant, and the softly glimmering light of the stars seemed to pause and redirect its light all towards her, encircling her in a soft halo of light. It always helped when even nature realized you were meant to be the center of attention._

_She had noticed Cid had been missing from the group for some time, and she had gone looking for him, positive that he was probably doing something technology based. Well, that, or he had been eaten by a Cthulu._

_And she had been secretly disappointed when she saw him working on the Tiny Bronco. Nobody was ever going to get eaten by a Cthulu at this rate....._

_"Hey darlin'. You need something?" He replied warmly, climbing to his feet, giving her a small wave. He pulled up the metal mask over his face and ran a forearm across his brow, setting down the welder's torch for a moment._

_"Nah. I just came to check up on you, and..... what are you doing?" She wandered over to him, looking at the red hot stripe of metal running across a part of the wing, wondering just what he was doing, and if it would ever be useful information for another time in her life. After all, it was really pretty. And that Koala bear wearing a bowler hat sitting on the wing of the plane wasn't too shabby either._

_"Welding. This part of the wing needs a little fixing up and- Hey, don't get too close to it. It's hot as a mofo. I mean, its so hot right now, it could melt just about anything. And when I say anything, I mean anything." He pulled his welder's mask completely off now, allowing his bright pink afro to spring up, no longer held in by the confining straps of the welder's mask. His light orange three piece suit was spattered in dirt and grime, the shirt bearing darker splotches of slowly drying sweat, evidence of his hard work on the repairs._

_Tifa made a face and backed up slightly, not one to take Cid's warning's lightly._

_"Ah, thanks Cid. Anything, huh?"_

_"Oh yeah. Absolutely. Just remember that. It might come in handy sometime. Y'know, if you're ever in some basement, and the inhabitant therein wants to get a little..... kinky." He said somewhat ominously, eyebrows up as he uttered the word 'kinky'._

_"Oh, c'mon Cid. That's never going to happen." She giggled lightly, waving it off airily._

_"Guess not. But hey- watch out for that Cthulu! I-"_

_End_

Tifa came back to her senses with a start, blinking to get her focus back, realizing that 'Greg' was staring at her expectantly, and that a good forty minutes had passed while mulling over that memory. Oh well, it was so obvious now! All she had to do was go get a Cthulu, and then.....

"Wait a minute..... that never even happened!" Tifa pouted after a moment of thinking it over, stroking at her chin while she mulled over it a little more. "The Koala in the bowler hat should have been a dead giveaway..... or Cid's erroneous appearance....."

"Uh, what?"

"Just give me a blow torch." Tifa grumbled flatly, fixing him with a steely glare.

"What makes you think I'd have blow torch?" 'Greg' asked incredulously, brow crunching up in dismay at her order. It wasn't like he normally carried one around with him wherever he went or-

Tifa rolled her eyes, hands settling on her hips while she regarded him flatly.

"It's a trick as old as a fanfic." She sighed, pausing and nodding to herself at that impromptu rhyme "Somebody will always just so happen to have exactly what we need for the situation at hand, especially when it's an integral part of the plot."

"What's so integral about a blowtorch?" 'Greg' was still in full-blown incredulous mode, something that hadn't been expressed since the time of 'What do you mean we have to eventually lose to AVALANCHE?'.

Tifa didn't answer, only tapping her foot slowly, waiting. She obviously didn't have a blowtorch on her, so it had to be him.

Nervously trying to avoid the scathing look she was giving him, he shoved his hands into the kangaroo pocket on the front of his hoodie, knocking something from it, sending it clattering to the floor with the clang and scrape of metal.

Awkwardly bending down, mindful of his skinned knee, he picked it up, blinking in surprise.

Hey, a blowtorch. And a welder's mask. Whaddaya know. How conveeeeeeeeenient.

"Awesome! Time for the climax....." Tifa cringed for a moment, her choice of words immediately reminding her of just what Vincent had in mind for the 'romance' aspect "Uh, I mean time for the denouement. I'll come back when I'm done." She nodded before fixing the welder's mask on, leaving it flipped up for the moment.

Hurrying down the hall to the room full of coffins, she paused, hesitantly pushing the door open, peering in at her surroundings, seeing that it was dark and dank, and the floor was strewn with the smashed remains of coffins, and their unfortunate inhabitants.

Of course, the coffin they had found Vincent in was still in tact, and was in good shape too, freshly varnished and polished, all the brass detailing giving off a dull sheen.

But damn if the rest of the room didn't need some Meadow Fresh Febreeze.....

Vincent was sitting hunched over, perched on top of his casket, with his back to the door, in his classic super-sulk. Shadows were thrown around the room, the small sliver of light coming from the partially opened door throwing a weak slice of illumination on Vincent's form, the despairing slouch of his shoulders, his lithe frame wrapped up in his blood red cloak.

Stepping in tentatively, Tifa bit her lip, eyes shifting back and forth, surveying the stacks of human skulls lining the walls, all staring and grinning madly at her, their vacant eye sockets seeming to trail her as she made her way into the room.

"Tifa, I'm troubled. Once I do ya, you must leave, and never come back. For I am not worthy to even be in the same room as you-"

"Got that right." Tifa muttered, rolling her eyes.

"And you do not deserve to have your happiness and exuberance ripped away by someone like me. You deserve to be happy, something that I cannot give you. All I can really do is mope around, and be blind to the fact that you're such a good looking lady, and I know this will just further perpetuate those 'Poncy Fop' rumors, but I-"

Tifa sighed, stepping closer to him, tentatively reaching a hand out, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder again.

"Come on, I won't leave you. I've found it in my heart to try and help you out, despite your whole speech of wanting me to leave. And, y'know, I still really, really need a new door."

"Your heart," Vincent sighed, shaking his head bitterly, reaching up slightly with his claw, the metal appendage closing over her hand, squeezing it slightly, as if trying to find comfort in her. "You must cherish that treasure while you still have it. When Lucrecia died, my heart did too. It is now frozen beneath all the bitterness and crushing angst I must endure, and I fear it is completely useless to me, after all of the strife I incurred at the hands of Hojo. I don't deserve to be among people such as you Tifa. I should stay down here, alone. With my demons. And maybe a little something to remember you by....." He trailed off, his mournful monologue becoming a little sly and hopeful with his last line.

He had to strike now, reel her in when the time was right.....

Tifa squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, sighing before she slid her hand away, pulling the welder's mask down over her face and lighting up the blowtorch. She sighed again, leaning in towards him, trying to assume an impassioned, sympathetic tone.

"Your heart is still there Vincent. You're still human no matter what you think. You just need to let me break through the icy walls you've built up around your heart over the years. And then, you'll be in a completely out-of-character limbo due to your love for me."

"But how can you do that? I'm a-"

Hoping to circumvent another long-winded, miserable monologue, Tifa stopped him before he could really even start.

"Look at me Vincent." She cooed gently, hoping that he'd take the bait.

Vincent sighed heavily, yet did, eyebrows going up in surprise at seeing the mask, even more so when he saw the blow torch.

"Uh, Tifa, what-"

He didn't have time to finish, as Tifa lunged forward, knocking him from his perch on top of the casket, sending them both to the ground, landing in a sort of mockery of the old 'trip-on-the-broken-bottom-step-and-fall,-only-to-land-on-top-of-the-rather-dashing-man-ahead-of-you-for-some-good-old-fashioned-romantic- tension' pitfall.

But there was simply no romantic tension there. Just Vincent, trying to not get a searing hole burned into his chest. And Tifa, trying to do just that.

"Tifa, Tifa I-" Vincent, though he never really showed it, was scared. Like totally 'pee your pants' scared. Yes, that sort of juvenile situation can happen to Vincent. He's not totally infallible. He was trying to keep that friggin' blowtorch away from him, but she was fighting him like a woman possessed, trying with all her might to overpower him. And she was a martial artist, so she probably had a bit of an advantage over him, he being just a weird, skinny guy that carried around a gun.

Oh, if only he had his gun now.....

"I'll let you restrain me on the specimen table....." She might have tried for the sexy voice on that one, but her voice came out strained, as she was trying desperately to over power him, and there was nothing exceedingly sexy about that.

But her words certainly hit home.

"Really?" Vincent asked, perking up visibly at the offer, relaxing his crushing grip on Tifa's wrists just a bit, considering it somewhat. On one hand, he wasn't too wild about the whole blowtorch situation. But on the other hand-

"No. That was just to distract you." Tifa admitted, using his distraction to her advantage, bringing down the blowtorch with a sizzle and hiss as his flesh started burning.

Back out in the hall, 'Greg' wasn't too worried about the screaming. Well, until it went on for five minutes straight, was accompanied by the sickly-sweet smell of broiled flesh, and reached a pitch that he was almost certain meant the end of his eardrums.

Despite Tifa having told him to wait, he just had to go see what all the hub-bub was about. And it gave me the excuse to use the word 'hub-bub'.

'Greg' made his way into the room, gaping in horror at the sight before him.

Vincent was laying, crumpled in a whimpering heap on the ground, a suspicious amount of smoke rising from his chest. How he wasn't dead from such an injury was quite the mystery. However, I'm sure there's some perfectly good explanation as to why he's still alive.

Well, first off, this is an angst/romance, not an angst/tragedy. And furthermore, that whole 'almost dying but not dying' situation really does wonders to cement a relationship between two people. And I guess it took a while to melt away all of the ice that had built up around his heart over the decades.

Tifa was sitting on top of Vincent's coffin, lounging there, the flame of the blowtorch dangerously close to her mouth, using it to light a cigarette, the welder's mask set down next to her, having no more need of it.

"Oh gross! What did you do?!" 'Greg' winced back from Vincent's crumpled form, feeling a bit sickened at the sight. Especially since Vincent was just laying there quietly, as if afraid to do anything that could possibly draw Tifa's attention.

"What?!" Tifa sighed indignantly, the cigarette bobbing slightly where it was perched on her lower lip. "I did it out of love!"

"How?! You burned a hole in his chest!"

"Well, I wasn't going to have creepy bondage sex with him on the Specimen table, so I had to do something! Besides, he'll shake it off pretty fast. Right?" She finished expectantly, glancing towards Vincent, giving him a slight nudge with the toe of her boot, causing him to jump slightly, sitting up, both hands clenched over the wound.

He nodded quickly, a bright smile cracking his normally stoic features.

"Oh yeah, I feel great Tifa! I can feel a cornucopia of emotions, just like real people! I don't want to live in this basement and angst anymore. I don't want to have creepy bondage sex with you, and furthermore, I feel like I don't need to angst over Lucrecia anymore! You and that blowtorch have really turned my life around, and I can't thank you enough!" He exclaimed brightly, hardly able to contain himself.

"And I take it you'll also reform on your living arrangements, get a place with indoor plumbing, and also get a job so you can pay your electricity bill?"

"You betcha!" He nodded emphatically, hugging her around the legs, leaning against her affectionately.

Yikes. Maybe Tifa overdid it a little bit on melting though those icy walls around his heart.

"And do you love me now? More than you ever really could have loved Lucrecia? Or do you at least love me enough so that you won't call me Lucrecia in bed? And will you stop being that goddamn excited?"

Vincent winced for a second, and relaxed his grip, sitting back, allowing her a little bit of room.

".....I guess." He sighed, trying to remember just how he was supposed to act. He had to mope, be sort of poetic in a creepy way, and also speak in indifferent, partial sentences.

Tifa twisted the handle on the blowtorch, the flame licking dangerously close to Vincent's face, and he winced back slightly, grimacing.

"Uh, what I meant to say is that I love you. Always have, always will."

Tifa nodded, setting aside the blowtorch, and she leaned in, tapping her left cheek gently.

Taking the hint, Vincent leaned up, placing a quick kiss on her cheek, getting one from her on the forehead in return (despite the fact that she still had the cigarette perched at the edge of her mouth).

"You're an okay guy Vince. A damn okay guy." She replied, ruffling his hair affectionately.

Oh ho! The romance!

Apparently, that made it the end of the Vincent angst/romance.

Hooray! She did it!

Sliding back and off the coffin, Tifa plucked the cigarette from her lips, exhaling a quick gust of smoke, and stretched, her back popping into alignment.

Vincent climbed to his feet, pulling off his cloak and bandanna, setting them aside and pulling off the gold claw as well, tossing it away, sending a pile of the skulls clattering to the floor in a dusty heap.

"Good to see you tossed a bit of a twist there towards the end. Almost thought it would end up the same as always." Vincent sighed, slinging his arm around her shoulders, plucking the cigarette from her lips and taking a pull from it before handing it back.

"That was my plan all along. I wasn't sure if it was going to work or not though."

"Good thing it did. One of my fake fangs fell off earlier today, and I couldn't find it. So it's a good thing we didn't have to do that whole 'Vinny's a vampire angle'. Sorry about that whole specimen table thing. Do you think I took the 'Vincent being creepy-weird' thing a little too far there?"

"Nah, I think it went okay. After all it was creepy. And weird. So, I think you had it dead on there. So what're you up to next?" She asked, while Vincent pulled out his little leather datebook, flipping it open, his eyes narrowing a bit.

"One of those ones where you die unexpectedly, and then I unexpectedly show up, and give Cloud some unexpected condolences. And some not-so unexpected lovin'. How about you?"

Tifa paused, glancing over at 'Greg', considering what she should pick next. He shrugged indifferently, a fair sign that she was free to go anywhere she wanted to.

"Ah..... probably one of those ones where Reno shows up and gives me some unexpected patronage at my bar, and we hit it off pretty well, despite the fact that we were bitter enemies in the past, and we'll end up in a steamy relationship. And there's probably bound to be some plot twists here or there." She shrugged airily.

"Have fun with that one."

"Oh yeah, you bet. You too."

"You know I will. Cuddling up to Cloud is exactly like cuddling up to a bony, flat-chested woman. Only I'm sure Cloud enjoys it more." He sighed somewhat sardonically, rolling his eyes. "Anyhow, when you get a break in your schedule, give me a call, we can go out and get coffee and Danishes or something."

"Sounds like a plan. See ya later Vince." She waved, making her way back to 'Greg', hooking her elbow around his, seeing he was still a bit put off by her burning a hole through Vincent's chest. "Oh, come on. He's fine. That part was all a work of fiction anyway. Some plot hole or another will crop up and he'll be right as rain. Or the author will just forget about it." She shrugged easily.

".....Right. Okay, so you said you wanted to go to the Reno drama/romance, right Chief?" He asked, causing her to squint up at him suspiciously.

"Well, first I want to get upstairs and actually get a new door. But after that, the Reno thing. And why are you calling me Chief all of a sudden?"

"Well, I gave this some thought while digging myself out from under all of those pennies. Calling you 'Chief' makes you sound pretty important, right? And since I get to tag along after you, that makes me feel even more important since you have a cool nickname like 'Chief'. What do you think?"

"I think I want to smother you with that burlap sack of yours."

END FIVE

Well, I'm not sure how good that one came out. Maybe a bit too heavy on the 'Greg' and a bit lagging in the charm of its previous counterparts, but oh well. Hope you guys liked it, and if there's any genre you'd specifically like to see Tifa tackle, leave a suggestion in a review. I'm not going in any specific order really.

There might be a bit of a lag before I post chapter six, because I'm going off to college, and I'm switching over to a different computer, so I'm putting off the next chapter till I get all situated and whatnot.


	6. The Reno Cliche Part One

Tifa's Bogus Journey

Part Six: The Reno Cliché Part One

Awesome, so, here's part six. Sorry for the delay. I switched computers and moved off to college, then I had some massive writers block on how to go about this chapter, then worried that it wasn't really funny.

And by the way, thanks for all of you who have been making suggestions of what you want to see. Reno's going to end up as a two-parter, but after that, I'll go check the reviews to see what some of you guys have asked for. Anyhow, if you submitted 'Stupid OC names' to tickle my fancy, I'll write you a little one-shot, I guess. Just let me know what you want to see, and it'll be done (though most likely in a sarcastic manner).

I only own the plot, and our strangely platonic friend, 'Greg'. Who's still around, because he's polite and punctual. It's all in good fun; no insults are intended, except to clichés.

...........

"So, that went rather nicely, huh? No major crap-ups." Tifa grinned indulgently as she raised a bottle of beer to her lips, taking a long swig of the crisp, bitter tasting liquid, glancing over at her rather unlikely partner in crime, who was glowering sulkily over his shoulder at her while he fixed the hinges of the front door, surrounded by various power tools, a pile of sawdust, and more band-aid wrappers than there would have been if anyone had bothered to help 'Jim-Jam' and patch up her injuries.

"If you're not talking about grabbing a door that wasn't even close to being the right size, then yeah, I guess there were no major crap-ups." He replied flatly, checking his handiwork on the lower hinge, before laboriously pulling himself up, a series of tiny pops sounding in his back as he cracked his spine to try and ease the tension that had built up in it from staying in a hunched over position for so long as he worked on re-sizing their pilfered door so that it would fit into the doorway.

He was tired and cranky as Hell, but he dare not complain, as she still had that blowtorch with her. And the way it was just sitting there on the bar top, black canister gleaming maliciously at him in the low, neon-splashed lighting, well, he wasn't going mouth off to Tifa about him having to do all of the work, despite the fact that almost all of the excess he had cut off from the door was now lodged deeply and painfully beneath his skin.

Geez. I mean, really, why did she have to take that back with her anyway?

In a way, he sort of wished that 'Jim-Jam' was still around, and not possibly incapacitated forever. Well, he wished she was around, but, y'know, maybe without a larynx. And with a bag over her head. And with no eyeholes cut into the bag. And staying at least twenty feet away from him at all times.....

.....And maybe he didn't want her back. Unless it was for her to make him seem less abhorrently obnoxious by comparison. She could make anybody seem not obnoxious by comparison.

Except for maybe one man.....

'Greg' was smacked out of his contemplative streak as the door slammed open suddenly, catching him in the side of the head and shoulder, sending him sprawling to the ground, face down in a mound of sawdust.

Hearing his pitiful squawk of pain, Tifa turned, quickly downing the rest of her beer before running into a possible battle. After all, she was feeling surly enough as it was. Why not be drunk as well? Y'know, being a bar-tender, and not even the legal drinking age, why the Hell not, huh?

But she stopped halfway in her loping dash towards the door, coming up short in a half-crouch, beer bottle clutched loosely in her right hand, left curled into a loose fist, expecting one of those standard random thugs to come along; perhaps beat the crap out of her despite her being a trained martial artist and all.

Or perhaps it was that occasional rapist. If that were the case, she'd certainly just give up and be handily overpowered. At least maybe then Cloud would come to the hospital and pay some attention to her. 'Cause after all, he had just been so distant and broody lately and even though she had tried and tried, she-

-Aw, shit.

Something was obviously coming up, because there she went with the broody internal dialogue about Cloud again. Crap.

And a half.

Though she looked at the new arrival swaggering and staggering his way into the bar, and forced herself to very deliberately set down her beer bottle, lest she end up smashing it against his skull in exasperation.

Reno..... Why in all God's name had she picked the Reno 'fic to pop up next?!

.....Oh, right. Because there were only about five billion of them in circulation.

No problem. She knew this shit hard-core. Knew it like it was a Tifa-Cloud 'fic. But she still kind of wanted to hit him with that beer bottle.

Perhaps later, because right then-

He swaggered past her up to the bar, and she glanced over at 'Greg', seeing him glancing murderously at Reno, spitting futilely to clear the sawdust from his mouth, shaking his fist.

She made a shooing motion to try and clear him out, biting her lip and shrugging in apology, before running, shoving past Reno, vaulting over the bar and slamming against the liquor rack, jarring it with her shoulder, unable to stop her momentum so quickly, causing the whole wall full of bottles to wobble ominously, though they stayed in place, leaving Tifa with an aching shoulder and severely dour mood.

So much for her famed grace and poise. If she was smacking into things and the like, maybe he wouldn't start musing over how graceful she was. And without her 'enhancements', he probably wouldn't find his eyes riveted to her 'shapely, voluptuous' figure. Oh, she could only hope.....

"Say babe, what'll it take to get a drink here?" He asked in his oh-so-smooth-oh-so-suave voice, which was unaffected despite his years and years of endless chainsmoking, as it was practically par for the course for him to always have a cigarette dangling from that incredibly foul mouth of his. Even when there was a No Smoking sign.

.....Especially when there was a No Smoking sign.

Oh, you fucking Mack Daddy you.....

"I'm sorry. The bar's c....." Oh no, no, no. She couldn't use that old tactic again. Well, she probably could, but she'd be getting nowhere fast. "Uh..... that is to say..... the bar has been converted into a Nuclear Testing Zone. Everything has become Radioactive, and I'm sure I've developed leukemia and all sorts of horrible malignant tumors, and my hair's going to start falling out, and all sorts of horrible stuff. So you might want to get out of here while you still can."

.....Oh. _Good_ one Tifa.

Reno glanced at her sideways for a moment, brow furrowing in utter confusion. But then he gave her a quick once over, a sly, lecherous grin spreading over his face.

"Well, you think you might get some cancerous tumors growing on your chest anytime soon? You're looking a little flat there, hon."

.....Oh.

.....Zinger.

Tifa clenched her teeth and slowly stretched her arm out towards the blow torch, trying to be inconspicuous about it, keeping her eyes on him, lips twisting down in a scowl.

"Dude I'm serious! The Geiger Counter was through the roof!"

Reno shrugged it off, shaking his head.

"Ah well. Can I still get a drink? For free? Because I know that you'll initially refuse to give me a freebie, but then, eventually, I'll get a free drink and possibly a roll in the hay. Heh? Heh?" He tried hopefully, nudging her in the ribs, eyebrows up suggestively.

Tifa, on the other hand, wasn't biting, and snatched up the blowtorch, lighting it up in one quick motion, grabbing Reno by the collar of his ever-present blue suit coat, rumpling it further than it normally was, cranking up the flame and shoving it in close to his face.

"I said _the Geiger Counter is through the roof_!" She snarled, and Reno swallowed heavily, eyes widening as the flame was jabbed dangerously close to his eye.

"Okay, okay. Geiger Counter. I get it." He muttered, nodding hastily, trying to push backwards out of her grasp, sweat trickling down his forehead.

He didn't know what was up. Normally he was bangin' her on the bar top by now, not nearly getting his eye lit on fire.

Tifa relaxed and let him go, turning off the blowtorch and setting it back down. The crisis wasn't averted however, as Reno seemed to have no intentions of leaving anytime soon. She stared at him in silence, tapping her foot slowly, waiting. She started waving her hand in a shooing motion, expectant.

But Reno still sat there, fixing his sunglasses, making no moves to leave anytime soon. Couldn't the guy take a fucking hint?

"So, really, what's with this place becoming a Nuclear Testing Zone? I didn't realize Junon had much going in the way of Nuclear Technology." He started, wary yet casual, as if trying to strike up a normal conversation with her, as if it'd help him get on her good side.

Though maybe he still could. After all, Tifa was insanely forgiving of people that had tried to kill her in the past. And besides, she was so unbearably _lonely_ not being in touch with any of the other AVALANCHE members in months. And after Cloud walked out on her to go dig up Aerith's corpse and give it some thoroughly unwholesome lovin', she could probably put up with an obnoxious, slovenly Turk.

But first, she had to figure out what in the bloody fuck he was talking about. She was in Nibelheim for cripes sake.....

.....Wasn't she?

Tifa paused, turning towards him slowly, eyebrows furrowed down, lips pressed together in a little line.

"Junon?" She asked skeptically, claret eyes squinting even further, as if she could peer inside his head and ascertain just where the Hell he was getting these ideas from. "What do you mean Junon?"

Reno squinted back at her in an almost dead-on imitation of her gob-smacked expression, as if trying to peer into her head and see where she was getting these ideas from.....

.....Or maybe he was just trying to look down her shirt.

But either way, they had one another handily flummoxed.

And Reno was pretty sure she was pronouncing 'Nuclear' wrong. But hey, nobody was perfect. Well, except for himself. In his own mind. On alternate Tuesdays.

"Yeah. Junon. It's where I've been hanging out since you guys toppled Shinra. Just kind of hangin' out, wishin' for the good ol' days. Which actually weren't so good when you think about it. But everyone's still afraid of me because I used to be a Turk, and because of that, gainful employment isn't exactly easy to come by. Not that I really care. I haven't really cared in a long, long time. Not after that whole....." He trailed off, sighing, making a vague allusion to one of the hazy, angsty situations of his past, which had most likely shaped him and caused him to become the man he now was.

And Tifa really, really didn't want to have to deal with that sort of thing.

But first, she had to find out what he meant by Junon. Hopping over the bar, she made her way to the new door, pulling it open, peering out, hair immediately being whipped up and around by the gusting windstorm, howling along the bleak gray concrete stretch of the waterfront. Waves crashed noisily against the breakers, salty spray splashing up over the railing, the salty air settling coldly into her lungs. An old tattered banner with the name Rufus scrawled across it in big gold letters was flapping noisily in the stiff wind, at the base of where the Mako Cannon had once been.

She blanched, scrambling backwards and shutting the door, sagging with her back against it, sighing heavily, glowering at the back of Reno's head, feeling suddenly childish and petulant.

Oh, _COME ON_!

Was it really that often that this set-up came around? Junon sucked! She'd much rather have her fine establishment set up in a sham ghost town than deal with this scenario again. It wouldn't be so bad if they were _anywhere else_.

Hopefully, Tifa turned, pulling the door open again, glancing out, faced with a quiet quaint setting, ground paved with blue cobblestones, houses all in deep, subdued shades, clock tower set in the middle of the town square.

Yeah, it was definitely past closing time. And she was definitely even less thrilled with the whole switch to her owning an establishment in Kalm.

When Reno chose to waltz in and romance her, couldn't it be done _anywhere_ other than Junon or Kalm?

Of course, if it were one of those 'Desperate-for-a-break-Tifa-goes-on-vacation-to-Wutai-or-Costa-del-Sol-and-happens-across-Reno-there' stories, she could be hanging out somewhere other than Junon or Kalm.

Gads.

Well, that settled it. If Reno was going to perpetuate their stereotypical meetings by constantly coming in and asking for free booze after closing time and trying to worm his way into her heart in doing so, she was going to give him what-for!

But what could she do that would indeed 'give him what-for'?

She glanced around for a minute or two, before lighting on 'Greg', who was huddled in a corner with a pile of bloodied safety pins and tweezers, wrapped in bloodied gauze, trying to dig all the splinters out from under his skin. A half-empty bottle of rubbing alcohol was near his feet, next to a pile of alcohol-soaked cotton balls.

Well, that'd do.

She made her way back to the bar, scooping up the bottle of rubbing alcohol, heedless of 'Greg''s sputter of protest. He needed to disinfect his numerous wounds! He couldn't bear to become gangrenous again, not after all his time being, y'know, _not_ gangrenous.

Tifa hopped over the bar again, and grabbed a glass, pouring the clear liquid into it, sliding it over to Reno with a half-apologetic smile.

"Well, I guess we could....." She paused, lost in thought for a moment ".....Hey, what are we always trying to do in this situation? Come to an understanding or something?"

"Well, normally, _I'm_ just trying to get laid..... but I think we're supposed to be, like, trying to make amends or something sappy and kind-hearted like that."

"Oh. Well, whatever, here, have a drink. For free. To..... kick off our fledgling friendship or whatever." She shrugged, winking at him.

Reno's eyes lit up, and he grabbed the shot, immediately downing it, before tipping over backwards from the stool, hands to his throat, choking and gagging as the liquid burned its way through his mouth and down his throat. He was also pretty sure he was going blind from it.

Tifa leaned over the bar, her scarf dangling down slightly, grinning and laughing, face split in a wide cheerful grin.

"There! Hope you enjoyed your free drink, 'bestest pal o' mine'!" She chirped as he laboriously climbed to his feet, coughing and choking, eyes watering from the vile stuff.

"What the fuck was that?!" He demanded, shaking his head to try and clear it, face twisted up in displeasure, mouth burning.

"Rubbing alcohol." She shrugged as he sat back down, still gagging from ingesting the toxic substance.

"Well, at least it was alcohol..... I guess." He managed to wheeze, retching a little bit.

He leaned against the bar, shaking his head, shaking slightly, eyes watering. He quickly wiped them on his jacket sleeve, tears leaving a dark stain on the navy fabric. He choked slightly, a little bit of bile coming up, staining the jacket sleeve as well.

Tifa tucked some hair back behind her ear, nose crinkling in disgust.

"That's horrible." She winced, shaking her head and indicating the deplorable nature of his outfit. "I mean, ugh, don't you have any other outfits? That thing is coated in blood and rot, smells like stale booze and smoke, and has stains all over the sleeves from you wiping your face on them, your shirt is missing half the buttons, your shoes aren't even tied, and if you pull your hair out of that ponytail, you have a mullet! That's just..... how can you get by looking like that?!" She cut in disgustedly.

"Dude. Nobody messes with the Turks."

"We took Shinra down years ago, and the Turks disbanded, Reno! Why do you insist on wearing that suit?!"

There. She'd finally gotten around to asking that question. The one that had been nagging at the back of her mind _forever_. He always paraded around in that fucking thing. And if not that, then something eerily close. Sometimes it'd be a black suit; or black leather; or some sort of darkly colored ensemble. And he'd still be a slobbish loser.

And, as was the usual, he was probably unemployed.

Oh Reno, I can see why all the ladies are all over _you_. Rawr.

Reno shrugged, feeling like some of his innards had shut down from those shots he just took.

Yes, shots. As in, a shot of Rubbing Alcohol, and that terribly crushing shot to his ego. He wasn't quite sure which one left him reeling harder.

"Look babe, my sloppy nature only adds to my unexpected animal magnetism. Ladies just seem to find me irresistible. Besides, we're stuck in existential fanfic limbo. We _never _change our clothes."

"I did." She shot back immediately, indicating her awesome new duds.

Reno shrugged, waving her comment off.

"Well, chicks dig the suit. Like I said, they find me irresistible."

Tifa rolled her eyes, snorting derisively.

"I'm sure STDs find you irresistible as well." She muttered, shaking her head.

He seemed to consider it for a moment, then opened his mouth to deny it. However, he paused, closing his mouth and glancing towards the ceiling, eyes narrowing in thought as he ticked numbers off silently on his hand, lips pursed. He paused, subtracting one, before stopping, then adding two more. Finally giving up on his counting, he shook his head, defiant.

"Okay, so maybe a had a few.....dozen..... STDs in my life, but that doesn't mean anything. I'm still cool and suave. I..... well, I do have these Syphilis scars on my face, but that doesn't..... I mean I don't..... I didn't....." Reno trailed off, eyes crinkling at the corners as his eyes welled up with tears, before tears started leaking from his eyes, Reno letting out a pathetic little squeak as he hid his face an his mussed sleeves, rolling his head back and forth to try and stifle the sobs that had come upon him so suddenly.

Tifa just stood there in shocked, silent horror at seeing him cry. Feeling a bit nauseated as his already off the wall characterization took a severe U-Turn at some point.

OOC?

Heavy, bitter tears?

That could only mean one thing.....

Something she had said must have set him off, and now, Reno's terribly convoluted and angst-riddled past was going to come back in full force like a beaker of Sulfuric Acid to the groin, and she was the only one there to coddle him.

But really, what had finally gotten to him, causing this overly-dramatic breakdown?

She hoped it hadn't been the comment about the Geiger Counter.

Because that one had been _pure gold_.

END SIX

Whoo! Geiger Counter! Well kids, that's probably the first (and last) time anybody will ever use that term in an FF7 'fic. If there is one out there containing the term 'Geiger Counter', I'd honestly be shocked. Shocked and appalled.

Next chapter: The cliché keeps on a rollin', as Reno's past comes back full force. Psychotic ex-wife?! Dead child?! Horrible sex abuse scandal with the higher-ups in the Shinra organization?! God awful past as a Slum Punk?! Forced to get by as a male prostitute?!

Who knows?!

.....Who cares?!


	7. The Reno Cliche Part Two

Here's my favorite part of my fics; clearing the air. Here we go with the current gripes.

-Vincent is just what I like to call 'fanfic Vincent'. He's not 'inconsistently characterized' he's just going along as he's being written. And Tifa's screwing with everyone's heads here, so he'd have to 'adapt' his characterization to keep up with all the shit she's throwing at him.

-I thought I had changed that drinking age comment. Guess I didn't, and I figured somebody would point out the error of my ways (Cookie to you Ardwynna)

-Tifa isn't being _sadistic_. She's just frustrated and a little slap-happy all things considered. And that whole mess with 'Jim-Jam' will be cleared up soon.

-As for the Vincent and Tifa scene that seemed to have disquieted a few of you, she merely 'melted the icy wall around his heart'. He was perfectly fine when she left.

-The rubbing alcohol part was a joke taken partially from the piercer I frequent. It's also a well-known fact that Rubbing Alcohol isn't meant for human consumption.

Now Reno, Reno here is going off the deep-end; because I couldn't really pick which facet of Reno I wanted to rib on. Overly-emotional Reno? Tear-jerker Reno? Tough-as- nails and bitter Reno? Doesn't-want-your-goddamn-pity Reno? So he's most likely going to be phasing out of character more than I should have let him. But I'm sure he deserves it.

Disclaimer: Oh forget it. Just look at the last six chapters. And I'm currently laughing my ass off, because I just recently saw a FF7 'fic with an OC named Greg. I didn't read it, but I can assume that he's just as stellar of a character as my 'Greg'.

As Reno's breakdown continued, Tifa just stared at him from her side of the bar, blinking in surprise, half reaching out to him as if to try and offer condolences; though for what exactly, she wasn't sure. Things had been rolling along marvelously, until something had set him off.

She really should have shut this shit down before he busted out with his 'hidden sensitive side'. Now some batshit revelation was bound to come out, and she'd be the only one there to coddle him.

But what would it be?

.....I mean, we could sit around and make guesses.

No matter what somebody shouts out, I'm sure its been used as a 'angsty-past' plot piece at one point or another.

"Uh..... are you..... I mean, are you okay Reno?" Tifa started, awkwardly and woodenly patting him on the shoulder in a half-assed gesture of reassurance. "Come on, professional assassins aren't supposed to be sobbing like teenaged Prom Queens."

However, her attempt only made him still, shoulders trembling slightly, hands falling into his lap, twining together, while he stared at the floor looking lost and forlorn. Silently, he reached over and grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol and poured it over his head, causing it to dribble down his face and neck, soaking his collar.

"You know what I like about the rain?" He asked hollowly, chucking the empty bottle aside, causing it to thud hollowly against the floor and go skidding away under the table. "Nobody can tell when you're crying."

"What? Reno, I know for a fact that you're crying. Pouring Rubbing Alcohol on yourself and acting like its rainwater isn't going to change that. I can see you've probably got some deep emotional wounds here, but, y'see, I'm _not_ a licensed therapist or anything. I'm just a....." She trailed off rolling her eyes, realizing that 'bartender' wasn't always far off from 'therapist' in some respects "Never mind. You'd just better leave me one Hell of a tip."

Reno, however, snapped around towards her, scowling and planting his hands on the bar top, jabbing his index finger towards her, hitting her in the sternum.

"Shut up." He seethed lowly, sick of her condescending attitude. It was never really clear what his motives usually were when he showed up in Tifa's bar, but it was par for the course that he tried to avoid some bit from his past, which he couldn't face without Tifa's constant nagging and prodding. "Shut up you little bitch! You couldn't possibly know what its like; so don't try and give me any of your fucking pity! You're always acting holier-than-thou, even though you're the-"

"Ugh! Reno, get over it!" Tifa sighed, rolling her eyes, picking up the blowtorch and shoving it into his hands, causing him to stop, glancing down at it in confusion, "There, that's the closest thing to a damn Oscar I can give you. Now will you please quit the overly-dramatic pastiche, sit down, and dry your eyes? This is embarrassing."

Reno blinked again, and, clutching the blowtorch to his chest like a precious artifact, he sat down heavily in his barstool, shaking his head. He exhaled sharply, blowing at his bangs, causing them to flop back in his eyes after a moment, then fixed her with his aquamarine eyes, giving a shallow shrug of apology.

"Sorry about that babe. Guess I got a little carried away. But its just..... It's just not the same. It hasn't been the same, ever since Rude died....."

Tifa blanched in shock at his comment, because, come on, there's just bound to be some sort of past history between Tifa, Reno, and Rude. You know, since she owned a _bar_ back in the Slums, and the Turks just loved _bars_.

Ah yes, stellar grounds for a highly complex back-story. One where they were friends, or one of them was hooked up with Tifa, until the whole 'AVALANCHE becoming a thorn in Shinra's side and blowing shit up' drove a wedge between them.

But I digress. That's probably another story for another chapter.

"What? Rude died?! How?! .....When?!" She couldn't believe it. Rude, dead. I mean, that guy was _tall_. If anything, she would have wanted to go to the funeral to see if they could have actually found a casket long enough to fit him in it. Or maybe they had just cut two of them together and then glued them into one 'super casket'. But whatever the case was, it was weird that she hadn't caught word of it.

Maybe that's why she had faced such a steep drop-off in business over the past few months.

Reno sighed, shaking his head, avoiding her gaze.

"It was just a few months ago. When Midgar was destroyed..... He and Elena were horribly, horribly crushed. I mean, I made it out without so much as a scrape, but the two of them didn't make it..... And I, I just can't-"

"Oh my gosh! I just can't believe it! I mean, he was always so polite when he wasn't trying to kill us. I can't believe that Reeve didn't say anything about it the last time I talked to him. Because, after all we-"

Reno cleared his throat expectantly, causing her to cut her tirade off rather abruptly, grinning meekly at him in embarrassment. He was looking at her blankly, shaking his head, before heaving another melodramatic sigh, contemplating his newly acquired blowtorch.

"Look, maybe its for a stellar plot device. Maybe it's here to crank up some angst rating and make you feel compelled to pity me and coddle me, then fall in love with me. Or maybe some fangirls just _don't_ think Rude is attractive at all, and just decided to do away with him as opposed to dealing with him." He muttered morosely, picking at a spot where the varnish was peeling a little on the bar top, face set in grim concentration. "But whatever it is, I guess I'm pretty fucking forlorn and unstable because of it, and I could really do for some coddling..... like, y'know, let me rest my head on your bosom or whatever."

And this stunning revelation had just sapped the fight right out of Reno. It was obvious, even before he used the word 'bosom' while referring to Tifa's chest.

".....Wait a minute. Fangirls _don't_ think Rude's attractive? I thought he was pretty damn hot. That just doesn't make any sense, really."

Reno let out a sarcastic snort, rolling his eyes, propping one hand up under his chin.

"You're telling me. And you've never even seen him with his shirt off."

"And you have?"

Reno nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, yeah. We were partners for a few years. I've seen him with more than just his shirt off."

Tifa opened her mouth to reply, but stopped, eyes narrowing towards Reno. Her mouth snapping shut as she mulled the words over in her head, wondering if it had come out in the way he'd intended it to.

".....Was that meant to be a double entendre?"

Reno's lips curled up into a sly grin, and his eyes took on a glint that caused Tifa to back away a few steps, swallowing heavily.

"Damn right it was."

.....Okay. Now this was starting to make a little sense.

"Alright. Now tell me something Reno, if I shaved my head, wore sunglasses, and didn't talk too much, would you find me more attractive?"

"Yeah." He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

.....Right. Dumb question there, Tifa. Use your brain for once.

Of _course_ he'd find her more attractive that way.

"And if I were a man?"

"Even better!"

Tifa nodded slowly to herself, leaning forward on the bar top, so they were eye level with one another, and she pointed towards him, as if aiming a gun, one eye squinted shut.

"Well Reno, I think I have this all figured out. You, obviously, are dealing with some severe issues over the loss of Rude. So in your desperation and depression, you came to latch on the closest thing to Rude. Me."

"I fail to see how you're the closest thing to Rude." 'Greg' piped up from where he had taken a seat at the other end of the bar, but Tifa brought her hand up, silencing him, a scowl coming to her face.

Her eyes narrowed and she cupped a hand over her mouth, twisting away from Reno as she did so, turning towards him, pointing an accusing finger.

"I could be honest and tell him that _you're_ really the closest thing to Rude." She hissed, causing him to squeak fearfully and hunker down, pulling his hood up out of fear, motioning for her to carry on.

Straightening back up, she returned her attention to Reno, going on with her stellar observation of Reno's severe emotional mishaps.

"You obviously have a thing for soft-spoken martial artists. And you like drinking. I'm close enough in those respects. And you'd be able to bum around my bar, drinking until you die of cirrhosis."

Reno nodded , reaching out and grabbing her by the upper arms, shaking her a little.

"Dude, I can't believe it. You totally _get _me. Nobody understood me, except for Rude. I mean, it was him and Tseng that brought me in, turned me around from being a hard-luck slum kid to being a ruthless Turk..... but Rude's gone, and I'll never be able to get over that deep, stabbing emotional pain, and _oh the angst!_"

Tifa patted his cheek awkwardly, before inclining her head towards 'Greg'.

"My friend at the end of the bar there can just open you up a plot hole, and things will be all better." She explained, though Reno looked dubious.

"I don't know. He seems a little, I dunno.,... ambiguously gay to be able to wield such awesome, unimaginable power."

'Greg''s eyes narrowed slightly, glowing-even-more-in-the-freakin'-dark, and with a bored expression on his face, he merely snapped his fingers.

Reno opened his mouth to ask what good that did, when the door to the bar was pushed open slowly, causing Reno to glance up over his shoulder, seeing the doorframe filled by a tall, well-muscled man in a blue suit, shades in place, some of the neon lights reflecting against his bald scalp.

The red-head let out a girlishly pitched squeal of excitement, and turned back towards Tifa, grabbing her and pulling her into a sloppy, grateful kiss on the lips, pulling away with a slightly disappointed expression, before pouncing on an equally bewildered 'Greg', giving him a kiss as well, before practically leaping onto Rude.

The recently revived Turk offered a small wave and nod towards Tifa, who smiled back happily, grinning as the door shut behind them.

They stood in stunned silence for a moment, before 'Greg' cleared his throat uneasily, causing her to glance over at him. He had gotten off of his bar stool and was making his way over, settling down into the seat that had been previously occupied by Reno, fixing her with a bewildered look.

"I know he was really grateful for our help and all, but when he kissed you, did he slip you some tongue?"

"No." Tifa replied, shaking her head, hearing 'Greg' let out a concerned little murmur. "Nice work by the way."

"No problem." 'Greg' nodded happily, glad he was able to have been of service to her. "You referred to me as your friend, _and_ you got rid of that goddamn blowtorch. It was a success all around."

She nodded in agreement, tucking some hair behind her ears, sighing.

"Yeah, I suppose I have been getting a little carried away lately. But come on, it's all new and different, isn't it?"

"In a disturbingly brutal way, yes. Yes it is." He agreed somewhat reluctantly, picking at his bandages slightly.

"I thought you had a healing factor or something."

"Last time I checked I don't think I did. Of course, that was back when I was so unstoppably awesome that my all-white outfit wouldn't get mussed up no matter what."

"You'll shake it off. Give it a chapter or two..... Ye Gads!"

"What?!" 'Greg' asked worriedly, jumping to his feet, looking around frantically for the source of Tifa's concern. When somebody just spouted out 'Ye Gads' in the middle of the sentence, there was bound to be something terribly wrong.

"Look at the day!" She gasped, pointing at the calendar.

'Greg' checked it out, not really seeing what the big deal was. There didn't seem to be anything very important going on, so he didn't know what all the hub-bub was about.

Though, his confusion gave me the opportunity to use the word hub-bub again. I love 'Greg' for that sole reason.

"It's almost Christmas!"

"And?"

"'And'?! Don't you know what that means?!"

'Greg' shook his head, shrugging.

"No. Not really. I'm Jewish."

Tifa started to explain what it all meant, but stopped, her eyes narrowing at him, one eyebrow arching up in confusion.

"You're _Jewish_?" She asked incredulously, causing him to nod in exasperation.

"Yes. Is there something wrong with that?" He replied tersely, rolling his 'glow-in-the-freakin'-dark eyes, looking like someone had jammed glowsticks in in place of his corneas.

"No. I mean, it's a little odd. 'Drakengard Louisiana, Esquire' doesn't really strike me as the kind of name a Jewish person would have..... then again, it doesn't really strike me as the kind of name any person would have."

"Look, that's not really the point. Did it ever occur to you that my mother could have been Jewish, and had a normal last name? Or did you ever consider that maybe I converted to Judaism? Or did you think that Drakengard Louisiana, Esquire.....The Third could be a fake name?"

"Is it a fake name?" She asked hopefully, blinking at him, one hand pinching at the bridge of her nose. She was so tired right now. And this bizarre twist in the conversation wasn't helping.

"Unfortunately, it isn't. But I'm still really Jewish."

"I'm so confused right now." Tifa muttered to herself, sighing, scrubbing her hands over her face.

"So, what's the big deal about Christmas, anyway?" 'Greg' asked, trying to pull the conversation back on track. He obviously wouldn't understand the gravity of the situation at hand.

"Christmas fanfics."

"They make Christmas fanfics? Do they make any Chanukah ones?"

"How many Jewish characters can you name off the top of your head? And you don't count, because you don't even really exist in continuity."

"Touche. But, what's so bad about Christmas fanfics? At least you get presents, and they probably aren't miserable angst-fests."

"Are you kidding me? The loser jerking us around right now wrote two of them! One wasn't funny, and the other one....."

"What about the other one?"

"I was like friggin'..... Hell, I was so screwed up in that one that I don't even think I can draw a comparison to how off-kilter I was acting. And a good portion of it was devoted to Barret! _Nobody writes about Barret_!"

"Okay, so, I take it you want to do something about this?"

"Of course! But I don't know which one we should take care of."

'Greg' blinked, taking it all in.

"There's more than one _kind_?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, there's the 'Shinra Christmas', the 'Miserable Christmas', the 'Vingette Christmas' the 'Mistletoe Story', the 'Humor-type with some kind of clever mishap involving Shinra and AVALANCHE', the-"

"Whatever. Just pick one, and I'll get us there in time to screw it up."

"I'm not screwing things up! I'm being creative and original."

"And a scary freak! I'm afraid to sleep at night!"

"We haven't even been working together for an entire day."

'Greg' rolled his eyes, letting out a gurgle of frustration. She was being awfully difficult. Even more so than in those situations when she was being rude and disagreeable just so the author has decent grounds to stack against her and make Aerith look that much better to the reading audience.

"Will you just fucking pick something?!"

".....Once we start the next chapter."

END SEVEN

So, guys. Which Christmas genre should they make an effort to tackle? Poor 'Greg'. He just can't win. Or get anybody to take him seriously. This was a bad chapter. A train wreck even. But I had no clue how to finish it up.

Stay tuned for "Tifa's Bogus Christmas Interlude!" (It'll be this story, but with the title changed for the 'Christmas Interlude chapter)


	8. Christmas Interlude!

All right. Let's see how this fares. (It's currently the 23rd. Let's see how much I can do in one night). So hang on for typos and the inevitable lack of humor or quality. Happy holidays you guys.

By the way, any page breaks I do don't show up in the story, so I had to improvise with the _(This is totally a page break)_

And really, the idea bit me in the face after putting up with a bunch of OC obsessed floor-mates over at college. If any of you guys are obsessed with the OC, don't take offense. Or if you like the idea of squashing all three holidays into an ill-contrived single 'super holiday', don't take offense. And, notice, as to really not try to offend anyone, or their holiday beliefs, I made this the sloppiest party ever, with Yuffie and Aerith having no clue, but wanting to get into the 'Christmakah spirit'.

I only own 'Greg' for the most part.

And away we go! Hope you enjoy!

_(This is totally a page break)_

"All right, so are we ready to go?" 'Greg' asked, glancing up at the calendar. Surprisingly, even though not even an entire day had actually passed in the continuity of the story, the calendar now read December twenty-third. She'd have to make up her mind soon or else they'd miss their chance altogether.

But Tifa still seemed to be waiting on something, glancing expectantly towards the door, eyebrows down, looking rather agitated.

"No, not yet. I'm waiting for the catalyst to get our story rolling." She replied, sighing, tapping her foot slowly.

"What kind of catalyst?"

"You know, like an invitation to the party or something. I can't just expect to show up without being told where we're having the party, or what kind of genre it is. Though I do happen to have my certain suspicions....."

"Well we don't have much time left. Well, I do, you don't. My holiday is over and done with. You've got like..... two days?" 'Greg' put in with a shrug, glancing back towards the calendar again. "So let's try to get the ball a'rollin' here..... Achem..... Boy, do I ever wonder when AVALANCHE is going to send Tifa the invitation for their annual Christmas get-together."

And, behold, through the glory of 'Greg''s ever advancing use of his inexplicable powers, a letter, sealed in a festive, bright red envelope suddenly slid under the door.

Tifa made her way over to retrieve it, and then opened the door up, looking for whoever could have sent it. However, as she had half-expected, the streets were empty; devoid of life.

At least the plot had put her back in Nibelheim.

She grinned as she made her way back over to the bar, sliding her thumb under the sealed flap to tear open the envelope, pulling out the glossy, embossed letter inside.

"Good going. Now let's see what we've-" She paused as she read it, hands tightening into fists, knuckles whitening as the paper crackled and wrinkled in her suddenly crushing grasp. "No..... No!"

"What? What's wrong?" 'Greg' asked apprehensively, coming up behind her, glancing over her shoulder to try and find out what had gotten Tifa so riled up again. For all he knew, it was probably one of those situations where Shinra would try to wreck everything up or something of the sort.

Though, he needn't really have asked, as, in big, glitter-glue covered letters, his answer awaited.

_-You are cordially invited to attend the first annual Christmakah party, to be held at-_

'Greg' was understandably flummoxed.

As well he should be.

"So..... What's Christmakah?" He asked after a minute, seeing the scowl on Tifa's face, as she tore her gaze away from the note, claret eyes flashing as she seethed quietly.

"People trying to be PC, I guess, and mash all three December holidays into one big mess. Yuffie's been watching The O.C., and everything they do, she simply has to emulate." She sighed, rolling her eyes as she crumpled the invitation up.

".....I don't get it." 'Greg' muttered, shaking his head, eyes wide and sort of deer-in-traffic-like. Did that actually mean there were Jewish people in AVALANCHE? Oh man, he could have totally, totally, struck common ground with at least one of them back when he was a haughty superesque-villain.

Tifa seemed conflicted over whether or not she should actually accept the invitation, shooting glances over at 'Greg', apprehension weighing heavily over her. Finally she shook her head in defeat, realizing that she had said she would deal with every cliché. This was bound to either be one that would try to be 'humorous', or would try to deliver some sort of 'message'.

"Let's just go and get it over with. Grab your dreidel, change back into your 'bad guy' outfit, and let's get going."

'Greg' dropped the dreidel into his erstwhile Burlap sack, then ran upstairs, reemerging a few minutes later decked out in his white pants and duster, along with a blue and silver Yarmulke on. Though he left the sneakers on, not wanting to run through the snow in bare feet, lest his tootsies get cold when they would have to inevitably make a run for it.

Tifa was waiting for him with a perturbed expression on her face, shaking her head, as she extended her arm, waiting for him to take hold of it.

"So, chief, what's the idea for keeping this from being a cliché?" He asked as he looped his arm around hers, bringing his thumb and middle finger together, ready to work his magic.

"Well, if you aren't enough of a distraction, I'm sure I can just get really drunk, and rude, and threaten Cid with a half-empty bottle of Jagermeister. That hasn't happened. Well, not lately anyhow." She shrugged, smiling grimly, lips pulled tight over her teeth, as if she were considering as a last ditch effort.

"Well, okay, but why not let me threaten to smash somebody with half a bottle of Jager? I want to be able to sleep at night without fear of you trying to harvest my organs or something."

"Deal! By the way, we're going for Costa del Sol this time around..... as if that _weren't _obvious." She nodded with a slight roll of her eyes, smiling and holding up her full bottle of Jagermeister, the seal already broken in anticipation of their ruthless shenanigans to come in case things got out of hand.

And as 'Greg' snapped his fingers he figured that things would get out of hand. Because that was the only consistent thing going for them lately.

_(This is totally a page break)_

As they found themselves looking up at the gaudily-colored Villa, their arms still linked, 'Greg' was immediately having doubts. Extremely severe ones. Ones that made his bowels twist in on themselves and clench up with fear, and.....

.....Ew. Let's not continue with the extent of 'Greg''s fear. Let's just leave it with the fact that he's pretty damn unsettled.

But hey, wouldn't you be? The outside of the Villa was decorated like something out of every epileptic's worst nightmare, with flashing red, green, white, black, yellow, and blue lights on almost every available surface that lights could possibly hang from. And even a few surfaces that weren't meant to have lights on them.

Through the window, they could see Yuffie prancing by, wearing something that looked like a miniature version of a Santa hat on the crown of her head.

The sight was enough to make their courage quickly evaporate, and they glanced at each other, unlinking their arms, from the 'hop', though they stood closely together on the doorstep, marveling at the multi-colored horror before them.

Casting him a wary glance, Tifa held up the bottle of Jager, shaking it slightly, causing it to slosh around in the dark green bottle, before offering it to them. They'd need some extra, fool-hardy courage if they were going to be able to come out of this train-wreck alive.

However, just as he unscrewed the cap and brought it to his lips, the front door opened and to reveal Yuffie, wearing a t-shirt with the star of David on it, smiling brightly at it.

"Ooh! You guys are under the Mistletoe!" She squealed pointing up, causing both of them to look up warily, seeing the green beast hanging there, red ribbons tacked onto it.

"Sorry. Mistletoe is a Christmas thing." 'Greg' replied almost immediately, lowering his head and pointing at his Yarmulke, smirking at having the upper hand against Yuffie's Christmakah campaign.

"Nuh-uh! It's totally a Christmakah thing! See for yourself!"

Rolling his eyes, 'Greg' reached up and pulled it down, looking it over skeptically.

".....This is a Matzoh ball. You just dyed it green." He said flatly, one eyebrow raised in disgust.

"So there you go! It's a Mistletoe for this holiday."

"It's not a real holiday." 'Greg' sighed, taking a bite out of the Matzoh ball, immediately making a face, swallowing it down with a swig of Jager. "And it's a terrible Matzoh ball to boot."

Not staying long enough to get a good look at Yuffie's absolutely crushed expression, they brushed past her into the Villa, seeing the others already all settled around, in all their happy little groups.

You all know what I'm talking about. Cid and Shera. Barret, Marlene, and Elmyra. Nanaki with..... some female Nanaki. The two components of the Cait Sith robot. Cloud and Aerith_ who has somehow managed to come back to life through some ill-contrived and not even explained reason._ And I'm sure Vincent was sulking in the corner. By himself. As always. With the broken parts of the animatronic Lucrecia figure he had dug up, so he wouldn't have to show up dateless to this little soiree.

Oh yeah. The gang was all there.

And looking rather miserable with the festivities to boot.

"I don't see why we couldn't have just had a normal Christmas party. Like we've been doing every consecutive year before this one." Cid griped as he took a swig of his eggnog, sighing tiredly, while Shera patted him on the back soothingly.

"I told you guys already! We have to be understanding to those with mixed families, or those of us that don't celebrate Christmas. Like Barret. I'm know he celebrates Kwanzaa!" The young ninja chirped as she bounded back into the room, beaming excitedly.

However, her comment was met with nothing but silence, and all eyes immediately turned towards Barret, getting ready to face his annual 'Christmas Tirade'. But it was to be expected. After all, being quite possibly the only African American Final Fantasy hero of all time, he was bound to run into all sorts of ill-contrived cliches and stereotypes that were set up to ensnare even the staunchest black characters.

I mean, come on. Corn rows? Ebonics? Tattoo? Bling? Has a gun(arm)? Angry at the government? Likes to swear?

That's the most horrifying stereotype ever. Really its just..... beyond appalling.

And poor Barret was once again forced to explain his religious beliefs to Yuffie. Again. In the most eloquent way he could possibly manage.

"Aw Hell naw, bee-yatch! Jees' 'cuz I'm black, don't mean I celebrate Kwanzaa! How come your foo' ass keep on askin' me that ev'ry year, huh?! Shit guys, ain't none of yas ever met a black man before?! Ain't none of ya never seen a black guy before?!"

Yuffie rolled her eyes, still grinning dopily, paying no mind to the look of pure rage that Barret was fixing her with.

"Of course! I watched Oz, like, all the time. And they sure arrest a lot of them on Law and Order. So I _know_ a thing or two about-"

Yuffie never got a chance to finish however, as Barret had thrown her through the window, and immediately returned to his seat next to his daughter, nibbling at a Gingerbread cookie, as if nothing had happened.

Poor Barret. Poor, poor, Barret.

Aerith, at seeing the primary hostess of the party now unconscious in the snow bank outside the Villa, stood up and clapped her hands to get everybody's attention, grinning broadly.

"O.....kay. Well, now let's get onto the fun part! Let's all put on our Yarmuclaus!" She chirped, busting out the Yarmukles that looked like little Santa hats. She made her rounds around the room, placing one on everyone's head, though when she got to 'Greg' and Tifa, she stopped.

"Hi guys!" She grinned, reaching up to put the Yarmuclaus on his head, though she stopped, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes at him. "Waaaaait a minute. Aren't you one of those ridiculously bossed out characters from the last Action-Adventure 'fic we were all in?" She asked a bit warily.

"Not like you'd know. Zing!" He shouted happily, high-fiving Tifa as he burst out laughing, while she just offered a knowing smile.

Oh 'Greg', you comedian you. Already starting with the zingers that will be sure to ruin the party for everyone.

"Well, I was supposed to have come back in the second to last chapter in that one." She sniffed dourly, frowning at him. "Besides, what was your name again? Wasn't it like, a state or something? Wasn't it Monta-"

"'Greg'!" He cut in hurriedly, clamping his hand over her mouth, glancing around uneasily. "My name is 'Greg'. With the two little quote things around it, mind you."

Whew! Way to dodge the bullet on that one 'Greg'.

"Yeah. He's pretty much reformed now. So I brought him along to the, ah, party." Tifa nodded.

"But I could have sworn his name was something really drawn out and bizarre. Are you sure it wasn't Monta-"

"Yes!" They all but shouted back at her, trying to keep her from saying it.

Aerith looked a little crushed at getting shouted at, and averted her eyes, sighing lowly.

"Sorry. Well, here are you Yarmulclaus." She held them up, still not looking at them, though they both refused.

"Why are you even having a Christmakah party? Nobody in here is actually Jewish, are they?" 'Greg' sighed in exasperation, shaking his head, looking over at the menorah that was set out, with little Christmas tree candles in it.

"Well..... I think the moogle robot is." Aerith grinned, nodding happily.

"It's a robot." He replied flatly, shaking his head.

"Well you are! And you're not a robot! Besdies, you're all decked out for Christmakah anyway, showing up with a Santa Claus bag." Aerith replied chipperly, her green eyes sparkling merrily.

"It's not a Santa Claus bag. It was a kidnapping sack for a while, but now I just put random things into it, which might be useful at a later time." He explained dourly.

"Well, we're going to have a real Christmakah after all! Now feel free to help yourselves to the refreshments!"

'Greg' and Tifa dourly made their way over to the table, where 'Greg' looked down, recoiling in horror.

"What kind of crap is this?!" He demanded loudly, causing Aerith to come bounding over, taking a look at what he was so upset about. She tipped her head, examining it, before she looked up at him.

"Oh, silly, it's just the refreshments!"

"They're bacon-wrapped pork chops!" He shot back, rolling his 'glow-in-the-freakin'-dark' eyes. "You could hardly be less Kosher than that!"

But Aerith was unfazed, waving it off.

"But its Christmakah you silly goose! That sort of thing doesn't matter!"

'Greg' opened his mouth to say something, but Tifa dragged him away, over toward the punch bowl, where she filled a large cup full of Jagermeister before adding a little bit of Eggnog to it.

She took a large gulp of it, barely even blinking as the alcohol burned its way down her throat. The way this 'fic was going, they were going to need a lot of it to endure the proceedings.

"Look, just calm down, and give me your coat." She whispered sagely, glancing around at the others, as if looking to see if anyone was on to them yet.

"Why do you need me to do that?" He asked, a bit flummoxed by her request.

"So I can put it on and then we can make a run for it. It'll be harder for them to catch us if we sort of blend in with the snow."

Way to go Tifa! All those hours of watching the History Channel really paid off for you!

'Greg' nodded eagerly, and had slid one arm out of his coat, when a loud bang was heard, and the punch bowl suddenly exploded, spraying slightly warm Eggnog all over the two of them.

Tifa sighed, blinked some of the Eggnog out of her eyes, and took a sip of her drink before glancing around the room, seeing everyone staring at them in confusion.

"Who the _crap_ just blew up the punch bowl?" She asked flatly, reaching up and wringing some of the Eggnog from her now-saturated bangs.

"Take a wild guess." A snooty, haughty, arrogant, (yet alarmingly sexy) voice chuckled, causing everyone to look towards the shattered window that Yuffie had been thrown out of, seeing Rufus standing there, flanked by the Turks, and a few other Shinra execs.

Yeah, it was a pretty big window.

"Damn it, Rufus! I'll call the cops!" Cloud threatened menacingly, getting to his feet and pulling out his cell phone, shaking his head derisively all the while.

"What?!" Rufus asked innocently, his words slightly slurred.

They had no idea why any of them had actually showed up. But then again, after a few too many Martinis at the Annual Shinra Holiday Party, the alcohol went to their heads, and they always went looking for AVALANCHE to stir up some trouble; or at least shoot a few Punch Bowls.

.....And it always just so happened that AVALANCHE would be having their own holiday party on the exact same night the Shinra Corporation was. And the locations of their respective parties would be within easy walking distance of one another, so they could easily stagger over to start some shit.

.....And after such ruthless shenanigans, the Annual 'Shinra Apology Letter' would make it into each and every AVALANCHE member's mailbox, expressing regret for their behavior, the massive amount of property damage and/or bodily harm incurred, and the reassurance that it would never happen again.

Even though it was still happening to this very day.

"Don' be such a jerk Strife! We're jus' having some fun! I mean- I mean what's more fun than hasslin' stupid losers like you guys! Celebrating Christmakah?! That's the stupidest thing that anyone's done tonight! And I mean, I already vomited into a fish tank, and took a piss on Scarlet when she passed out!" He burst out laughing at his statement, gleeful at 'putting AVALANCHE in their place' and staggered backwards slightly, gripping onto the window sill to keep himself up, laughing even harder at his near-fall. "Oh, oh man you guys! I'm such a..... Hammered hammerhead!"

As he dissolved into more gleeful fits of drunken laughter, he took another shot at them, hitting the Star of David affixed atop their 'Christmakah Tree', shattering it and spraying yellow glass all over them, sending most of them cowering, and causing all of the lights to short out.

Tifa and 'Greg', however, stayed near the refreshments table with bored disinterested looks on their faces, still dripping with Eggnog, drinking.

Heidigger was leaning on the window sill as well, slapping Rufus on the back, laughing loudly with his obnoxious horse laugh.

"Man, AVALANCHE! You guys..... You guys suck! I mean, you suck worse than that guy that made the Spy robot! I mean, _he _sucked for coming up with such a crappy robot, and you guys suck more for being suckered into hanging out with him! I mean, what kind of losers befriend a robot?!" He cackled at them, while Reeve, who was standing behind him, looked crestfallen, as did Cait Sith.

"I know you're drunk, but your words still hurt, ya know." He sniffed sadly, looking away.

"Oh! And remember that one Christmas, when I decided I was going to end all of you guys?! So I inadvertently dressed as Santa Claus, and came down your chimney?! And then- then you thought I was the _real_ Santa Claus?! Holy crap you guys! You guys suck! I mean, you suck worse than that guy that made the Spy robot! I mean, _he_-"

"You said that already." Barret sighed, rolling his eyes. And people sometimes wondered why he was so obsessed with taking down the Shinra Corporation. His main problem was obviously their drunken heckling...... and the whole gun-arm thing.

"So?! You all better- better listen to me! Because I'm the President, and that means that I get to..... to come in and make fun of how much you guys all suck! And show off my new Red Rider BB-Gun!"

Ah yes, the Red Rider BB-Gun. He got it in the gift exchange.

Why, if things went wrong, would 'Greg' have a use for that eye patch he swiped from Nanaki in the third chapter?

Maybe.

"Guys, do something! We have to end this in a mildly humorous fashion, and keep with the spirit of Christmakah!" Aerith cried in horror, looking around for anyone to do something to keep Rufus at bay, as the President rolled sloppily over the window sill, landing in a heap, giggling loudly. Somebody had to stop him and his BB-Gun. Nobody deserved to have their eye shot out.

"But the author isn't funny! What makes you think any of us can do something like that, given what we've got to work with here?!" Cid demanded.

Tifa and 'Greg' exchanged glances, shrugging. Tifa reached down into the Burlap sack at their feet, and pulled out the Dreidel, handing it to him.

He merely sighed and shook his head, making his way over to Rufus.

Time to save the day when absolutely nobody else can. Like all great Original Characters.

Way to live the dream, buddy!

He took a seat opposite of Rufus, and set the Dreidel down between them, waiting for the president to stop laughing. It was high time for some (albeit belated) Chanukah action in a 'fic.

Go 'Greg', go!

"Okay, since we need to end this up quick, we'll play one round of 'Life or Death Dreidel'. We each spin once, and if you win, you get to kill everyone in this room. If I win, Tifa and I get to leave this shitty party. Agreed?"

"Man, you look so gay! Decked out in all white like that, hah! What kind of loser pretty boy wears all white?! Oh man, seriously you guys, he's sooooooo-"

"Just spin the damn Dreidel." 'Greg' muttered, knowing there was really no point to pointing out the fact that both of them were wearing all white.

"No! No way, man! I'm not going to play a game like that against such a..... Tighty Whitey! Ah ha ha! Hey! Hey.....Hedgarr! Oh man, I totally got him! Didja hear that?! Tighty Whitey?! Oh man, that's so-"

'Greg', giving up on settling this all with the spin of a Dreidel, simply picked up the half-empty bottle of Jager, and proceeded to menace him with it handily. And once he finished with the menacing, he smashed Rufus over the head with it, knocking him out cold; averting the crisis at hand.

He pried the Red Rider BB Gun out of Rufus's hands and tossed it to Tifa, who dropped it in the Burlap Sack, glancing around warily.

"Get his coat off! Hurry!" She shouted to him, and 'Greg' complied, practically tearing the white trench coat off of the passed-out President, tossing it to her.

Tifa slid it on quickly, and handed the Burlap sack back to him, as they both ran for the door at full bore, kicking it down stylishly, before sprinting off into the snowy night.

Aerith ran to the door, watching as they ran away.

"Wait guys! We haven't opened our Christmakah presents yet!" She called after them, causing them to stop dead, turning back towards her. They hadn't gotten too far, but the white made it kind of hard to see them, all things considered.

"You know, with such crappy ideas like that, I can understand why Yuffie was optional, and you didn't make it past the First Disk!" 'Greg' shouted back, right before he and Tifa burst out laughing, before resuming their escape.

Though as they disappeared from sight, Aerith was almost certain that one of them shouted out 'Zing!'

.....This was the worst Christmakah ever. They usually got to open up presents, and maybe have some romance. And maybe Santa would make an appearance. And usually, they simply had a Christmas party, not an ill-informed mess of a Christmakah one. This was going to be one of the last times she attempted to apply The O.C. to real life situations.

Because it just really annoyed people.

And so ended the Worst Christmas Interlude ever spawned. I'm sorry everyone. Have a safe and Happy Holidays, and remember: Menacing people with a bottle of Jager, then running off into the snow isn't the polite way to get out of crappy parties.

END EIGHT

Sorry you guys. I'm truly sorry. I'm sure that some people might actually celebrate something like 'Christmakah', but with my experience, it was a bunch of ditzy rich kids that have The O.C. as an almost religious entity. Or people in the coffee shop, running up to me and shoving a 'Happy Christmakwanzakah!' flier in my face.

And during Heidigger's 'you guys suck' tirade, the reference to having inadvertently dressed as Santa comes from my first train wreck of a Christmas 'fic, _Ho Ho.....Heidigger?!_


	9. The Rape Cliche

Well, well. I'm glad to see people are still interested in this story (death threats to get me to keep writing? Huzzah.) And I'm glad 'Greg' has wormed his way into a few of your hearts. Just goes to show you that none can resist the draw of the loser-y OC. He just tries too hard (but I'll warn you, this chappy is a bit 'Greg' heavy, along with some references to some of his 'Super Friends). And now without further ado..... The 'rape in the bar' genre. This one goes out to you, Ardwynna, since you suggested it and all (yes, I pay attention to the reviews. And yes, the way this goes down, I remember seeing one that went down sort of like this, and it follows it closely for the most part. Big ol' WTF moment.). And uh, sorry the Christmas chappy was a bit of a bust.

.....Good Gravy. This can't possibly turn out well.

By the way, thanks for all the cool reviews (especially you loyalists. Every time Tifa and 'Greg' slog through another cliché, its because they _love_ you guys.)

Disclaimer!

_(This is so totally a page break)_

The new, totally revamped door to Tifa's bar was shoved open, Tifa and 'Greg' trudging in, gasping for air and exhausted, covered in snow and shivering. Though despite the possible frostbite to all their naughty bits, they were in high spirits regardless. Tifa had knocked another cliché off of her list, and 'Greg' had been _this close_ to being able to save the day as only an OC could do. Well, that, and he got to insult all of Tifa's comrades. He had really missed doing that since she had put him out of his job as an action/adventure/drama 'fic villain.

And he had gotten a B-B gun.

God it was great to be a whiny, OC tag-along.

Tifa collapsed into a seat at the bar, laughing so hard that her shoulders were heaving, a few coughs slipping in between her elated giggling. She slipped off the pilfered white duster they had stolen from Rufus and shook out her hair, her tresses damp from snow melting in it.

"Nice work, nice work. God, I knew there was a reason I wrecked up 'Jim-Jam' and not you." She sighed as their laughter eventually curtailed, causing him to stop laughing very, very abruptly, eyes widening a little.

"Uh....." He started uncertainly, blinking worriedly, not really sure what to say to that. "I thought you wrecked her because you were fed up with her inability to pronounce any 'w' sounds." He finished lamely, causing her to shrug, a grin still on her face.

"Well that, yes. And you realized that it wasn't your place to be prattling on and on about your angst-ridden back story that I couldn't care less about. But other than _that_, you're a cool guy. And I mean that in the loosest possible sense."

'Greg' brightened up visibly at that little, juicy scrap of praise, looking at her hopefully.

Could it be? Was he actually being hailed as 'cool'? I mean, by an actual, factual _real_ Final Fantasy 7 character, and not just some other, lesser OC? And was she saying it without him having to use his UberGod-like powers to coerce her into saying it?

And was it really Tifa's opinion of him, or just the fact that it's all part of the dumbass author trying to convince everyone that the character she created really is the end-all be-all of Final Fantasy characters that never were, and (hopefully) never will be?

Well, of course I'm just trying to sway you into accepting the idea that 'Greg' is cool. Because, y'know, my already fragile self-esteem won't be able to take the crushing blow of knowing my original character really is total, unoriginal crap.

But come on, 'Greg' doesn't need to know that. Let him have his moment. After all, there's no chance for him to exist in the real world of fanfics. Tifa's Bogus Journey is all he's got. If you take that away from him, he'll go back to being nothing.

So go, my friends! Flood the review screen, lauding 'Greg' (and the cool-kid genius that came up with him –_wink! Tee-hee!-_) for being a stand out guy, and for being able to rock a semi-mullet and a soul patch _at the same time_.

Go! Let him have his moment in the sun. Let him bask in the fact he has a slim margin of acceptance.

And just remember, his name totally isn't Monta-

"Damn. I'm so cold you could use my nipples as an orange juicer." 'Greg' complained lowly, pulling his white duster closer around himself, shivering slightly.

And totally destroying all credibility of being a halfway decent OC.

God, you suck.

Tifa's jaw dropped slightly and she glanced at him in utter, abject horror, his comment hitting her like a boot to the face. She struggled to come up with some sort of reply to that. But honestly, not even the best of the best could come up with any sort of retort to _that_ kind of comment.

"I'm..... I'm going to go take a shower....." She stammered, slipping out of her seat and backing slowly towards the stairs up to the second floor, eyes flickering around, trying to look _anywhere_ but at his nipples. She really, really didn't need to know if his statement had any grain of truth to it.

And neither did the fine people reading this.

Way to go, dingus. You almost had her thinking you were cool. You're a disgrace to us both. Hell if you had gotten the nod of 'cool-ness' from Tifa, you might have been able to get a weird, laughable PWP with her. You know, the kind written by a twelve year old (or possibly a chimp) that knows nothing about sex, or writing about it for that matter (and they don't have much of a handle on grammar, punctuation, or spelling either).

But now, now you've embarrassed us _both_.

Just go and sulk for a while. I need to try and find a way to redeem myself.

And poor 'Greg' was left standing there, staring after Tifa, feeling dejected and alone all over again.

He had almost won her over. But now, just because he had felt the need to call attention to his alarming state of T.H.O., he was back at square one.

In fact, he was a ways back from square one.

Sighing morosely, he made his way over to the bar, setting his swag bag down on top of it and hopping over, looking for something that he could chug down while trying to drown his sorrows. Finding a bottle of Scotch, he leaned up against the counter, taking a long, mournful drought of it, hardly even blinking.

He was so lonely. It was as if his life had no meaning any more.

Clou- Er, I mean Tifa had become so distant lately, and without her around, it was just a moot point for him to even bother any more. If Tifa didn't want him, then who did?

Shaking his head disdainfully, he grimaced and thumped the bottle down on the countertop forcefully, shattering the glass decanter, cutting up his hand in the process.

Staring at his hand, blood and amber liquid swirling together, running over his lacerated palm and the shards of glass caught therein, he focused again on just how much he sucked at life.

I mean, he sucked so bad at life, he didn't even _deserve_ to get stitches to close up the rather nasty flesh wounds he had just given himself. As he continued to stare with morbid fascination at the wound, he figured maybe, just maybe he could call up one of his friends. Maybe _they_ would be able to help heal the crushing emotional blow that Clou- Er, I mean Tifa had dealt him.

Digging into his pocket for his phone with his ungouged hand, he pulled it out, seeing that it was broken.

Well, fuckin' fancy that.

Now he had absolutely _nobody_ that he could talk to that would reassure him that he was an okay guy, and that he didn't need Tifa in his life.

He threw it aside with a heaving sigh of contempt. Not like there would have been much point anyway.

Honestly, the only friends he really seemed to have were the other ridiculous OC characters that were part of his 'super-secret, nigh unstoppable underground group of AVALANCHE hating badasses'.

And he really wasn't in any mood to call Krauser Kyllgrave up. Sure he had been the macho, leader-type of the group, but even if he called him up when he _wasn't_ depressed it would have devolved into one of those 'what kind of pansy are you?' speeches that he was oh-so-loved for. And then he would just launch into one of those stories about when he had been in '**The War**'. And 'Greg' never had any effing clue just what war he was even talking about. It was always "'**The War**' this" and "'**The War**' that". But he never even told anybody when '**The War**' took place, or even who was involved. But no matter what the conversation, it always came back to that friggin' war, which, if his suspicions were correct, probably was all a lie just to try and give Krauser some phony credentials.

He didn't need to constantly hear about all the times that Krauser had killed a man with his bare hands. Big whoop. Back before the first chapter of this mess, he could kill a man with his bare _feet_.

But now look at him. Wearing _sneakers_ like some kind of goddamn _normal_ character. How humbling.

How depressing.

Perhaps he could use Tifa's phone, maybe give Ursellaine a ring. She had always been hanging all over him. Never could take the hint that he was totally and irretrievably obsessed with getting revenge on Tifa for having upstaged him all those years ago, and perhaps attempting to get some forced lovin' out of the other martial artist. But now, since his near-obsession with Tifa would most likely never be reciprocated, perhaps he should look elsewhere to gain some sort of..... 'comfort'. But if he called up Urs for advice on how to move on from this, she'd probably be right over with her crazy Half-Hispanic accent and her obnoxious blue eyes, which she always insisted had to be called 'cobalt orbs' or some dramatic shit like that. Honestly, he had called them 'peepers' once, and she had damn near bit him in half. Because she had a natural proclivity for biting..... and she was more than a match for Vincent, because she could transform into _better_ monsters than him. Hell, she was so out of everyone else's league that her name didn't even have to coincide with her ethnicity. She wasn't really who he felt like crying to.

Well, that of course, and the fact that there was nothing too hot about her hot shorts. Honestly, he shuddered to think about it. In fact, just the thought made him throw up in his mouth a little bit.

And Fransozich, Januira, her twin sister Daisura, or even Gina weren't really worth calling up either.

Wait a minute here. An OC with a _normal_, _four-letter name_?

Well stop the Goddamn presses boys and girls!

.....But then again, Gina was a guy. So, of course, they all just called him Sepulcher. Because, you know, he liked robbing graves and hewing weapons from the bones of people he had killed.

And really, 'Gina The Bone Hoarding Creepazoid' just wasn't cutting it as far as over-the-top names went.

Even they had their standards.

Sighing, he tossed his phone aside, reaching instead into his swag bag, pulling out his newly acquired B-B gun.

Why not? Not as if anyone would miss him, right?

.....Well, except for people that actually _would_ miss him if he thought about it for more than _fifteen fucking seconds_.

Regardless, he brought the gun up, sliding the barrel into his mouth, hooking his finger through the trigger, ready to just end it all. There was no real point to go on living. Clou- Er, I mean Tifa was going to be fucking sorry that she didn't reciprocate his feelings (as unwholesome as they might secretly be).

His glow-in-the-freakin'-dark eyes shining with tears, he looped his finger around the trigger, ready to-

Waaaaaaait a minute.

Had he just hopped them into another cliché while he was still a little tipsy after drinking so much Jager and drunkenly threatening her friends?

Was that why he was so suddenly off the wall?

.....Good Gravy. That would certainly explain things. How had he ended up in the 'Tifa-Suicide-Angsty-Crap-Fest-Piece'? In the 'Tifa' role no less.

Oh man he _really_ needed to stop drinking so much.

He winced and pulled the gun from his mouth, head snapping up when he heard a soft chuckle.

"Hey there baby. I got something else you could wrap your lips around if that gun ain't big enough for you."

If he hadn't been so flummoxed by where the Generic Thug had come from, he would have certainly shoved the gun back in his mouth to erase that line from his memory.

But instead he just stared in abhorrent shock at the Generic Thug who was, by all accounts, as generic as a thug can possibly be.

You know, wife beater and jeans, pair of non-descript shoes. Sleazy looking black hair pulled back in a ponytail, few days worth of stubble on his chin.

I dunno, maybe he had a few prison tattoos, maybe some really bad, gaudy jewelry, and one of those sinister, leering grins. Oh! And the wife beater probably had some stains on it. You know, we need to establish that this guy is _bad news_.

"Uh, who are you? How did you get in? Why are you.... looking..... at me..... like..... _that_....." 'Greg' stammered nervously, swallowing hard as he dropped back a few steps, until his back was pressed up flush to the bottled of alcohol lining the wall, not sure of what he could do.

It was as if every ounce of fighting prowess was suddenly sucked right out of his body, and his strength and survival instincts were down to being non-existent.

There was _no fucking way_ he could defend against a Generic Thug.

However, his questions weren't answered as the G.T. merely made his way up to the bar, leaning on it, watching him carefully, giving him a slow, leisurely once over.

"You a little cold there sweetie?" He asked in a low gravelly voice, causing 'Greg' to squeak, pulling his duster closed, hugging himself fearfully and twisting away.

His mind was spinning. If he hadn't ended up in the Tifa role of a 'Tifa-Suicide-Angsty-Crap-Fest-Piece', then what was this? What did the Generic Thug indicate? What did his sudden reduction of any and all skills mean?

.....Oh God.

_Oh **God**_.

Please, please, please don't let it be true-

But his silent pleas went unanswered as the Generic Thug decided to not waste any more time with dragging this ill-contrived plot out any longer. He was here for one thing, and one thing only.

To rape our unwitting heroine, as some convenient plot device to get Cloud to come to her side and admit his undying devotion to her.

"Oh mother of Pearl!" 'Greg' all but shrieked as the Generic Thug handily overpowered him, not being able to do _anything_ to fend him off. I mean, come on, he was only a well-trained and deadly assassin.

Nope. Can't do a damn thing.

Rough hands grabbed at the waist of his pants, tugging at the waistband and dragging them down over the sharp, protruding hipbones.

This _wasn't_ friggin' happening. And he had to do something fast, before the 'tantalizing' 'risque' description was done with, and he just 'got raped'.

But just who in the _Fuck_ would know what to do in this situation?

Nobody other than.....

"Tifa! Tifa! For God's sake, I need your help!" He screamed as the Generic Thug ran his hands across the flat planes of his scarred, washboard abs, moving lower, lower.....

"Yeah?!" Tifa's voice floated down from the top of the stairs, muffled slightly by a humming noise. It sounded like she was using her hairdryer.

"Hey, what do you do in those 'fics where some random guy comes into your bar and tries to rape you?!" He shouted back up, squirming and feebly trying to pry the Generic Thug's hands away from places they most certainly _weren't_ meant to be.

"Umm....." There was a brief pause, as she mulled over the question, a bit taken aback by it "Oh! That's right! I usually just struggle feebly for a bit, get handily overpowered, then he just rapes me and never shows up again. Then Cloud'll show up, and admit he loves me, then things pretty much work out for themselves." She shouted back down, before turning her hairdryer back on.

Well, that's not so bad. Since they were breaking the cliché, all he had to do was get in a few good shots, hit him in any pressure points, or just snap his neck and get it over with really-

But that's when it hit him. This wasn't happening to _Tifa_. It was happening to _him_.

So that meant it wasn't cliché.

Oh sweet merciful crap. Talk about their master plan backfiring horribly.

For God's sake 'Greg', get out of there! Get out of there now!

But alas, no matter how hard he struggled, the Generic Thug still had him beat. And if he didn't do something soon, Cloud would be proposing to _him_ post-rape.

There was only one thing left he could possibly do.

The Ultimate Gamble.....

The **_ALL CAPS SHOUT_**. With very, very liberal swearing.

That's right. Because nothing conveys pure abject horror, or poor knowledge of grammar and descriptive words that convey anxiety, like typing with the fucking Caps Lock on at all times.

"OH MY FUCKING GOD! TIFA, YOU HAVE TO FUCKING HELP ME OUT HERE! TIFA! I'M ABOUT TO GET FUCKING PLOWED BY SOME GENERIC THUG IF YOU DON'T-"

"'Greg', what the fuck's gotten into you?! Can't you just shout like normal people, by using exclamation points, and things like ''Greg' shrieked in pure terror' after the sentence? Fucking A, man, I leave you alone for twenty minutes and....."

She stopped dead, tirade trailing off, frozen in place as she gazed upon the unholy sight in front of her. It more terrible than any Yaoi doujinshi she had ever seen. And somehow, she owned a _lot_ of those. Simply because most of her male teammates asked her to look at them, and tell them when they were being portrayed as 'Overly Feminine' or as a 'Creepy Dom'.

There were just no words for it.

Well none except for maybe-

"Good Gravy!" Tifa shrieked shrilly, voice pitched high enough to shatter most of the bottles of liquor. And she did it without doing that all caps thing. After a few moments of just staring in terror, she realized that 'Greg''s chastity was at risk, and sprang into action, kicking the ever-loving Hell out of the Generic Thug.

Meanwhile, 'Greg' crawled away from the scene of carnage, weeping bitterly, his skin getting cut up worse as he dragged himself over the shards of glass that littered the ground after Tifa's shrieking had broken the bottles.

But none of it mattered. He just needed to crawl into a corner and hide, weeping until he could weep no more.

Why? Why, why, _why_? Things had been fun (albeit terrifying) before this one. It was all just so.....

The sounds of carnage died off after a while, and Tifa, spattered with blood and the pulp of what were once internal organs, made her way over to him, kneeling down, her face full of grief and remorse as she looked at his sniveling, broken state.

"Oh dear God..... Let's get you to a Hospital."

_(Totally a page break.)_

"So how do you do it? How do you put up with that kind of..... terror? It was like staring Death right in the face. Only in this, Death had a penis, and he was going to use it to do unmentionable things to me." 'Greg' was still shell-shocked, laying in his hospital bed, Tifa perched in the chair next to him, patting the back of his hand lightly, condolingly.

"It gets hard sometimes, I'll admit. But when you're as popular as I am, you end up in these situations sometimes. It's honestly best not to dwell on it. And to tell you the truth, after the twenty second time I ended up in this situation, I just got kind of desensitized to it."

"They made twenty two of those things?"

"Probably more. Hell if I know. I don't read 'em. I just-"

She was cut off as the door was pushed open, and none other than Cloud Strife stepped into the room, looking distraught, and carrying a bouquet of flowers. As soon as he laid eyes on her, he rushed over, taking her hand in his, looking at her dolefully.

"Oh my God Tifa! When I heard what happened, I realized I loved you more than anything, and I'm totally here to get you _now_, after you totally just got your life and happiness _obliterated_. I mean, this should like, counter-balance that part of it, right?"

The poor boy honestly seemed confused about it, looking at her earnestly, as he fished a velvet box from his pocket, holding it out to her.

"Look, Cloud, I-"

"So, you, like wanna get married now or something? 'Cause you know. You just got horrifically raped, but I'm here now, and I, like, totally care about you and stuff, so, let's go have a wedding, and then have sex. Because I _know_ you'll totally be over this and be ready to give me some lovin' in, like, a few _days_. So how 'bout it, huh?" He flipped the ring box open, holding it out to her with a bright, cheerful grin.

A grin that quickly evaporated as she reached up and slapped the ring out of his hands, glaring at him.

"Now look here idiot. I didn't get raped for once. He went after my friend 'Greg' and _almost_ raped him. So unless you _almost_ want to propose to 'Greg', I suggest you leave." She sighed sternly.

Cloud paused, looked a 'Greg', seemed to consider it, moved to hand the flowers to him, stopped, considered it a little more, then shook his head, standing up.

"Well, uh, geez. Guess I have no reason to be here now. See you around then. I'ma go and hang out by Aerith's grave some more. Or maybe go pal around with somebody that has a similar name, appearance, and occupation as Aerith." He muttered as he headed out the door, head down in shame.

"See you around when it's a Cloti or ARF cliché!" Tifa called cheerily,waving to him.

"Wait a minute....."

Tifa and 'Greg' looked up as they heard a voice on the other side of the white curtain, dividing his hospital bed from that of the room's other occupant. A hand came up, gripping the edge of it, before the curtain was jerked back.

A young, shapely woman was in the other bed, staring at them, her brown eyes brightening up visibly as she got a look at them. Her head was shaved, and there were some staples holding her scalp together, but she seemed in high spirits nonetheless.

"Oh! It _is_ you guys! That's fantastic! How's it going?! I haven't seen you in like-"

"Uh, sorry, but who are you?" Tifa cut in, exchanging a confused glance with 'Greg', who merely shrugged in confusion, having no idea who his fellow patient was.

"It's me!" She nodded, gesturing toward her face, smiling hopefully. At their blank stares she sighed, a slight frown coming to her face. "Y'know, 'Jim-Jam'? You kicked the crap out of me and left me for dead outside that Wutaian restaurant in the third chapter."

"But you don't look-"

"And your eyes-"

"But..... but..... You can pronounce 'w' sounds!" Tifa sputtered indignantly, knowing it had to be some kind of trick.

But she merely smiled, shrugging.

"Well, you see, after you kicked my ass, stabbed me in the eyes with chopsticks, broke my jaw and kicked me through a plate-glass window, I was just kind of laying there in a near-coma. Of course, I eventually was taken to a hospital. They were going to let some med students dissect me. But when they found out I _wasn't_ dead, they fixed me up."

"But that doesn't explain the fact that you're, well, _not_ 'Jim-Jam'." 'Greg' pointed out, not knowing who this cunning con-artist really was. It couldn't have been 'Jim-Jam'. She had those hideous eyes, and that hideous hair, and that _accent_.....

"Well, you see, they had to cut a hole in my skull because my brain was swelling up and I had glass embedded in my scalp. So they had to cut off all my hair. Since my eyes were skewered, they found me a new pair off of some cadaver. And you won't believe this, but when they re-set my jaw, it turned out that when you broke it, it knocked it back into its right position and fixed my speech impediment! Now I'm about seventy-nine percent less hideously obnoxious! And, I have a normal looking wig to cover up these staples."

Tifa and 'Greg' were speechless.

"So, can I hang out with you guys again? Please, please, please? I'll prove I can do it. Listen, listen. 'Which way would waxy white worms wiggle'. See, I can do it! I can make 'w' sounds!"

"Well fuck. I'm convinced!" Tifa nodded, giving her a thumbs up. "Welcome back aboard."

"All right! Yeah! So what are we going to do next?" She asked excitedly, already moving to get out of her hospital bed, giddy with being accepted by Tifa, and because the martial artist had inadvertently fixed her demeaning speech impediment.

But the martial artist shook her head, putting her hands up, motioning for her to stay in bed.

"You guys aren't going anywhere just yet. You need to rest up for the next time you get caught in the crossfire. I'll go this next cliché alone." She nodded solemnly.

Very, very, dramatic.

"But how are you going to get anywhere? I-"

"Dude, this is 'Tifa's Bogus Journey'. I've got it covered." She nodded, pulling out her PHS, dialing a number, waiting for the person on the other end to pick up. "Hey, Rufus, can you send a phone booth over for me? Yeah, yeah, no. No, I really _don't_ need to go pick up a bunch of famous historical figures....."

In a flash of bad graphics, a phone booth appeared, smoking slightly, with neon colored sparks shooting from the top of it. 'Wild Stallions' was written across one of the windows in magic marker, and who appeared to be George Carlin was standing in there near the phone.

"See you guys later. I'll pick you up when I'm done." Tifa nodded, waving farewell as she stepped into the phone booth, pulling the door shut.

"Where are you going?" 'Jim-Jam' asked worriedly, causing Tifa to pause, shrugging slightly.

"Wherever a plot has been used too many friggin' times. Wherever things play out the same way once again. Where-"

"You don't really know, do you?" 'Greg' interjected skeptically, frowning, seeing the way her shoulders sagged, as she gestured vaguely with her left hand.

"I dunno. I guess I'll go check the reviews page or something. Its as good a place to start as any."

With that she slid the door shut, and picked up the phone, dialing a number, before the phone booth disappeared in another flash of bad graphics.

'Greg' and 'Jim-Jam' were left staring at the empty spot that Tifa had just been, not knowing what was going on. Things were just getting more bizarre by the minute.

"What the Hell is a review page?" 'Jim-Jam' asked after a moment, only getting a bewildered little shrug from 'Greg'.

END NINE

Woot. 'Jim-Jam''s back. With less annoyance for sure.

God, I need to pull this 'fic back together. Though, I _did_ make a Bill and Ted reference like Malz mentioned. Please people, send 'Greg' a Get Well card. Poor boy is traumatized. (And review. Call me narcissistic, but getting 100 reviews by the time I hit 10 chapters would make me feel like my losery memory of clichés is doing some good).

And we also got to hear a little more about the guys 'Greg' and 'Jim-Jam' associated with before all of this. Bad names and clichés abound.

But hey, what do you really expect out of me?

I was in **The War**.


	10. Yuffentine Cliche?

Okay, so I was keeping this a secret, but Tifa's Bogus Journey isn't going to strictly be all Tifa clichés. So now, recoil in horror as we tackle... The Yuffentine cliché.

Gad. Zooks.

But hey, with 'Greg' out of commission at the moment, and 'Jim-Jam' not quite back in commission, Tifa needs to take things easy on herself, as she's got nobody to back her up... or does she?

Nope. Well, not at the time of writing this intro anyhow. It's subject to change.

But hey, at least she has a crazy new outfit.

Let's hear it for the tenth chapter! Most of my stories are long dead before they hit this point. But not this one. Of course, this one has a nearly inexhaustable food supply, so until I thoroughly disgust all of you it'll keep going. You guys rock (sadly, this chapter may not).

And don't worry kids, your pleas have been heard. 'Evil Tifa', and 'High school' clichés are around the bend. Pretty much after this scenario.

Disclaimer: Not that anybody would want to gank them, but 'Greg' and 'Jim-Jam' are mine... as well as all their outlandish cohorts. It's all a bunch of harmless fun. And San Dimas, and Wyld Stallyns are part of the Bill and Ted reference.

Oh, and Lost Spirit Candle, thank you for wishing me a 'Happy 100th Review'. For that you deserve a puppy or something fanciful. Name your price.

_(This is so totally a page break)_

"Oh, those stupid San Dimas stoners..." She muttered to herself, hunkering down a bit more, flat-out gnawing on her fingernails as she tried to work out what to do.

After hitching a ride out of the Hospital with Rufus (George Carlin, mind you), she had, out of the good graces of her heart, helped Bill and Ted round up some historical figures from their world, suffering through some rather humorous hijinks along the way.

And she had totally had a little something going on with Billy the Kid back there, but there's really no place for that here.

...Unless Tifa/Billy the Kid 'fics suddenly become a really, _really_ hot commodity.

But since I'm certain they won't, their romantic fling will just remain shrouded in mystery, with perhaps a few cryptic references to it later on.

Well, that is, if she stops gnawing her fingers off and comes out of her hiding place any time in the near future.

After helping to round everybody up, she had been dropped off at the Gold Saucer, in the mood to do an 'angsty-crap throwaway one-shot' and just whine to herself, despondent over the fact that Cloud went on a date with Aerith; that he loved the Ancient, and not his childhood friend, despite the fact that they had been nothing even resembling pals way back in the day.

Guess it's the whole principle of the matter, or some such nonsense.

Yeah, that would have been easy. She didn't run the risk of any other characters screwing her up, and all she would have needed to do to keep it original was sit around doing a crossword puzzle, or order room service or something other than contemplating slitting her wrists in the bathtub.

And she most definitely didn't need 'Greg''s help to order room service.

But no. Ending up in the right situation just would have been too convenient, right?

As soon as she had set foot out of the phone booth, Bill, Ted, Rufus, and their entourage of 'Historic dudes' had all vanished in a flash of bad special effects, Bill promising that they'd come pick her up when they were done with their report.

Alas, she had started out, with a jaunty bounce in her step, but she hadn't gotten more than ten feet when she saw something that made her stop cold.

Left sitting on one of the benches, was a newspaper, which bore the cryptic headline of _Meteor Crisis Totally Over and Done With_. Which, surprisingly had been from two months ago.

Of course, after she got a good look at it, she knew she was in waaaay too deep, and spun, sprinting back towards the Phonebooth, worried and frantic.

She had screamed at them not to go; not to leave her there, as it wasn't the right plotline, but they hadn't heard her; too busy playing air-guitar and rocking out to their demo tape as her only way out of there disappeared in a flash of bad special effects.

And now, here she was, cramped and cowering behind a mog-shaped garbage can, gnawing away on most of her left hand in anxiety, right hand fervently clutching the six-shooter Billy the Kid had given her during their foray into the Wild West.

Her eyes were wild and frantic; bloodshot and darting back and forth as she stole glances at the lobby from her hiding place, keeping a frantic look out for her pursuer.

Whoa, hold the phone here. What's got Tifa's hackles so raised here? And why is she cowering behind a garbage can with a six-shooter like some kind of coked-out sniper?

"Like, OMG Cid, have you seen Tifa around anywhere? I saw her, and went running over to say how kewl it was to see her, and how we were going to ride all the rollercoasters _twice_ now that we were together again, but she just took off, and now I can't find her."

"Well, shit."

"Yeah, I know. Isn't that, like, just the weirdest thing ever? Maybe she thought I was going to try and steal her materia or something. Because, I, like, do that all the time, you know? Because I'm so adorable, and cheeky, and even though my kleptomania is a possibly dangerous psychological condition, it makes for chapters upon chapters of wacky fun!"

She drew in a deep breath to steady herself, trying to calm down. It was fine. She could handle Yuffie; rebuff her cutesy advances, even when they did inevitably end up striking out together on a journey of intrigue and self-discovery, and then find themselves inexplicably drawn to each other after chapter upon chapter of rather pointless adventures.

But, despite the fact that she told herself she could do it, she had bolted as soon as Yuffie's high, screechy voice tore her eardrums asunder, needing to take cover and think of her best plan of action to try and stay out of her clutches, with nobody to help her in case she got drawn into a nefarious trap by Yuffie's almost magnetic appeal.

Maybe she could slip away while Yuffie was talking to Cid. She'd have to make sure she had a chance, and that she had a clear shot at one of the exits before she tried anything though.

Tifa chanced a look out from behind the garbage can, though she had to wince and immediately flinch back; bringing her right arm up to shield her eyes.

Good lord.

In the X amount of required months/years that had passed since AVALANCHE had saved the Planet and undoubtedly went their separate ways, Yuffie had matured like you wouldn't believe. She was beautiful, graceful, currently well-endowed, and so radiant that it physically hurt to look at her without proper eye protection. I mean, Hell, she was glowing with the radiance usually reserved for the second coming of Jesus.

...Yeah, she had the blinding white glow, and the little angels blowing trumpets and everything. The whole she-bang, really.

The bony, obnoxious little pseudo-skeleton that they had all wanted to punch in the spine had matured into a beautiful, desirable young woman.

So desirable, in fact, that Tifa was stalwart in her new plan to just hide out behind the garbage can for the duration of this, and _not_ find herself falling in love with the new improved Yuffie.

Ugh. This was going to be a long one. She wasn't feeling so hot right now either. Pretty lethargic, yet at the same time, rather bright and optimistic.

"I just have no idea where she went." Yuffie sighed, shaking her head as Cid reached out, patting her on the shoulder reassuringly.

"Drink your goddamn tea?" He offered conversationally, tilting his head to the side as he lit up a fresh cigarette. Yuffie seemed to brighten considerably at his encouraging words and nodded emphatically, a bright smile splitting her face.

"Oh Cid, you know just what to say! You really do have a..." She paused, and Tifa could hear her quickly thumbing through some papers, but from her hiding place, she couldn't tell what it was "...Heart of gold! Thanks!"

After a few moments, the overpowering exuberance died down, and Tifa chanced another peek out from her spot, warily checking for Yuffie.

Only Cid remained in the lobby; smoking his cigarette, as always.

The coast seemed rather clear, though just as she felt it safe to stand up for a moment and take a stretch; the room suddenly darkened, and she glanced over towards the entrance, already overcome with a cold feeling of dread, gloom, and despair.

"Oh not this shit again." She muttered to herself as she saw Vincent stalk into the plaza, looking like someone had just kicked his puppy into rush hour traffic.

Hell, Vincent was brooding so much that Tifa could feel an almost magnetic pull on her mouth, twisting it into a forlorn, pained scowl to match that of Vincent's, though his was mysteriously concealed behind his dashing red cloak.

She, on the other hand, was just standing there, scowling at nothing like some kind of idiot.

It really kind of pissed her off that Vincent was already back to his over-the-top brooding shtick. She figured that the quick fix she had done on him with the blow torch would have at least toned him down for a little while, but this was just as angsty as ever.

Hell, it was more angst than she could physically stand. It made her stomach clench and roll with despair.

But Cid didn't seem affected in the least. He just smiled broadly at Vincent and reached out, clapping a rough, calloused hand down on Vincent's shoulder, flicking his spent cigarette away.

"Shut up or I'll break your goddamn arm!" He exclaimed rather cheerfully, though Vincent flinched back as if Cid's touch flayed the flesh from his bones, hissing a little.

"Are the others all here already?" Vincent muttered. "Basking in the happiness of seeing us all together again, while I am forced to simply _endure_ this foolish event, having the good cheer of all the rest of you unduly shoved down my throat and into the pitch-black recesses of my tortured soul?"

Cid merely nodded in affirmation, looping an arm around Vincent's shoulders and leading him towards the Wonder Square; neither noticing Tifa hunched against the wall, reeling from the over-powering despair that was radiating off of Vincent in waves.

Now completely alone in the lobby, Tifa dashed around to the front of the garbage can, leaning her head in right before her stomach heaved, forcing up that Nanaki-based chop suey she had eaten before she had mercilessly beaten 'Jim-Jam'.

...Yeah, she really needed to work 'eating' somewhere into her schedule. It was just getting a little weird. And maybe using the toilet. She honestly couldn't remember the last time she had even _seen_ the inside of a bathroom, save for staring at herself in the mirror and doing a grueling introspection on everything that was wrong with her life.

Ugh.

Well, at least with her head shoved in the garbage can, she had plenty of time to think.

Perhaps this wasn't going to be a bizarre Yuffie/Tifa one. After all, Yuffie was overbearingly perky, Vincent was overbearingly abysmal, and Cid...

...Cid was just spouting off lines of text that had been spewed forth among a multitude of expletive deleteds in the course of their grand, _actual_ adventure. And he was smoking like a goddamn fiend.

So maybe, just maybe...

Ah, but of course! How could she have been so blinded out of fear of a possible screw-up that she hadn't noticed it before!

It was going to be one of those ones where the author tossed all the characters together, but has only the most basic knowledge of the characters. Oh man, these ones were a blast. All she had to do was act rude and reckless, and everyone would be so stereotyped, they wouldn't know what to do!

Feeling better already after having purged herself both of her fear of being stuck in a bad underage-girl-on-woman situation, she pulled her head out of the garbage can, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and put on the cowboy hat she had gotten from Billy the Kid with a grand flourish.

Piece of cake. Piece of-

"Um, excuse me, officer?"

Tifa paused, turning towards the voice, seeing a beautiful woman, dressed in a gauzy flowing robe, and coated in white, glow-under-uv-light greasepaint.

What-_what_!

Tifa jumped, turning towards her, bringing up her six-shooter, even though she knew it would most likely mis-fire and blow her hand off, but not really _caring_, because there was a fucking, fake-out _ghost_ in front of her.

These situations _never_ went well for her.

"Oh, sorry, sorry!" The ghost-woman squeaked, throwing her hands up as if to surrender, not wanting any trouble. "I was, looking for someone, and wondering if you had seen them come through here."

Tifa studied her for a long moment, lips pursed in a thin line, contemplating what _this_ new arrival meant. She was used to getting the phantom-plot-device thrown in her face an awful lot, but this one glowed under fucking UV lights. There was no way of telling what was going to happen.

But then again, these dead-types usually were rather benevolent, and just came to dangle a little plot device in front of them, or perhaps a pearl of wisdom that would eventually resolve their overwhelming predicament.

She shrugged, putting the six-shooter back into her holster, and nodded for her to go on.

"Might have. I've been cowering in the lobby for a few hours now. Who are you looking for?"

"Well, my name is Lucrecia and..."

Tifa put a hand up to stop her, sighing heavily, nodding along as she pulled out her cell phone, already dialing Vincent's number.

"Say no more. I know the routine." She hit the send button, waiting for her brooding teammate to answer.

"Yes?" (OMFG! He's totally on the other end of the phone! Check out the doo-dads that _indicate_ he's on the _phone_!)

"Hey Vincent, it's Tifa. Look, I'm here in the lobby with Lucrecia's ghost or whatever, and she says 'Move the fuck on!'. So, you know, start getting over it, because she's a ghost, and she glows under UV light and all that shit. See you in a few minutes."

She snapped the phone shut and shoved it back into her pocket, before turning back to Lucrecia-ghost, who nodded appreciatively.

"Well, that sure saved me a lot of trouble. Thanks." She nodded, before abruptly turning and leaving.

Tifa found herself alone in the lobby again, completely perplexed. What purpose did Lucrecia-ghost serve by suddenly appearing? Did it mean that Vincent would start enjoying life now, and would ride the Teacups with her and then promptly vomit like the Poncy-fop he was?

Well, in that case she really needed to hurry up and catch up with the others.

And she really, really needed to find out what friggin' genre she was in so she could expertly plan her counter-strategy.

Thankfully, she mad it to the Wonder Square with no further incident, only to be subsequently glomped by-

"Aerith!"

Oh no.

Oh, God no.

"Hi Tifa! That's a really... uh, eclectic outfit you've got on. San Dimas cowboy, huh?" The flower girl chirped excitedly, insane emerald eyes glimmering with a dewy sheen of happiness, her rosy cheeks framed by her silken chestnut locks, and-

"Jesus Christ get off of me!" Tifa shrieked shrilly, immediately trying to disentangle herself from the overwhelming _cute_ that was Aerith. Or overwhelming _kawaii_ if you want to be all cool and randomly put Japanese words in your story to show you're in-the-know, and culturally savvy or some shit.

Well, heck, perhaps I'll show my unending coolness by... Oh, I don't know, randomly peppering my 'fic with German words to show how fucking _kuhl_ I am.

"What?" Aerith asked, innocently, her _grune Augen_ widening in dismay. "I thought we were friends!"

"Well, fuck, you can't just come back from the dead randomly like this in these post-Meteor stories." She sighed, shaking her _Kopf_ in dismay.

Aerith burst out laughing, rolling her eyes and elbowing Tifa in the ribs lightly, leaning in conspiratorially.

"Yeah, tell _that_ to our esteemed author, why don't you?"

Zing.

Aerith fucking rocks.

Tifa had to grin at that, feeling mildly better, despite still being confused as all fuck. She figured she could get a straight answer out of Aerith. After all, they spent so much time in cut-and-paste scenarios that they had grown rather immune over time. They had a tolerance for being stereotyped that far surpassed that of any other characters.

Ah, Aerith. The only other _Frau_ she knew that had faced as many bad clichés as she had. Despite her not being part of her personal vendetta, they were allies, whether the Ancient realized it or not.

...I bet you guys _really_ want me to stop tossing in random German words, don't you?

"Say, Aerith, things are pretty bat-shit right now. You have any idea what plot we're supposed to be in right now? I don't know what's going on. We're all disgustingly generalized, it's two months post-Meteor, we're at a reunion, you're alive with no half-assed explanation whatsoever, and I ran into Lucrecia's ghost a few minutes ago. I've been trying to figure it out, but really, I've got nothing here."

The two oft-cliched heroines pondered for a while, glancing around uneasily, trying to spot any tell-tale signs that would clue them in to what shit-storm they had ended up in.

Well, everything _looked_ normal enough...

Wait a second...

Vincent and Yuffie were sitting close together, their disgustingly overdone 'auras' completely negated due to their close proximity. They were gazing at each other as if they had suddenly just noticed one another. Their eyes locked, longingly, and Yuffie reached up hesitantly, brushing her small, soft hands across the metal clasps of his cape, covering the bottom half of his mouth from her view.

He didn't stop her as she reached up to undo them, only staring back with a soul-searing gaze as the red material fell away, allowing her to figuratively drink in the beautiful, rapturous sight of him.

"Oh no..." Tifa breathed, eyes going wide in shock, horror wrenching at her gut "Lucrecia's ghost... That inanely cryptic appearance makes _perfect_ sense now!"

"What?" Aerith asked, blinking at her in confusion, her brow crunching up in shock. It was bad enough that she was dressed like a crazy, pseudo-cowboy in a San Dimas t-shirt (over a long-sleeve, hand-made Wyld Stallyns shirt, mind you) but now she was blatantly analyzing plot points which... "Oh _shit_!"

Hearing such a profanity pass through Aerith's petal-pink lips was all it took for Tifa to _know _she wasn't alone in this mess.

Oh no, she had Aerith to back her up now.

They couldn't fail, for all their sakes.

"Come on!" She snapped, grabbing Aerith by the wrist and taking off in a dead sprint towards Vincent and Yuffie, knowing they didn't have much time left to prevent a catastrophe and utter, utter failure.

"My God I'm miserable." Vincent sighed, shaking his head sorrowfully, and reaching up, cupping his hand to Yuffie's face, thumb stroking across her cheekbone.

"I'm not!" Yuffie murmured sweetly, a small, shy smile gracing at the corner of her mouth.

An oddly heavy silence settled over the two of them at her comment, neither breaking eye contact, both unconsciously leaning in closer to the other.

"..."

"Hey, wanna make out?" Yuffie asked abruptly, breaking the building sexual tension, blinking expectantly at the older man.

"Yeah, okay." Vincent shrugged non-chalantly, grabbing her face with both hands, ready to just pretty much shove his tongue down her throat and cement this unholy alliance for good.

"No!" Tifa and Aerith shrieked, as if one being, now existing for the sole purpose of preventing any sort of statutory shenanigans from occurring.

They had to stop those two from locking lips, or _else_.

...Or else what?

Hell, I don't know. I'm being all _kuhl_, and _geheimnisvoll_. C'mon guys, nothing is more totally cool that an awful cliff-hanger. Right?

Am I right?

Ah, screw it. I don't know a damn thing about Yuffentines.

_(To be concluded next chapter. Which will be waaaay more coherent.)_

Yeah, so there we go. This was kind of a cliché grab bag. You know, Lucrecia-ghost, super-stereotypes, Aerith being back for no reason. Non-sensical reasons to hook up.

And, Tifa's 'San Dimas Cowboy' outfit is there for a reason. Which will be explained next chapter. And next chapter will be better, I promise. And don't worry, Aerith is only going to e giving her a hand next chapter, then its back to 'Greg' and the All-New, All-Different 'Jim-Jam'.


	11. Yuffentine Cliche!

Don't mind the huge wait between chapters. I've been busy.

So, here's the rest of the Yuffentine cliché. Shenanigans abound. And, also, if you don't understand the German, it's a-okay. It won't really detract form the story or anything, and won't pop up so often. Oh, and just for reference, Sabado Domingo is a Spanish language television show.

And also, the Highschool cliché is coming up in about... two more rounds of clichés (there's a reason as to why, but, y'know the basic plot between the 'jaunts' is extremely loose at best).

So, enjoy. I haven't really put a disclaimer in the past few chapters, but the basic idea is there. Don't own Bill & Ted references, FF7, or much else.

_(Totally the start of the chapter)_

There were very few things that Tifa ever considered a matter of life-or-death. In fact, she could basically count them all on one hand. This time definitely counted as a situation that could be ticked off on her index finger when she was busy being all bad-ass and vaguely preachy, talking about all the times she had risked her neck for ideals that were far greater than herself.

That whole AVALANCHE gig wasn't shit though. No matter what happened, she was only a dramatic plot twist or a Phoenix Down away from getting back into the action.

And Heck, all she had needed to do was follow the script.

But this; _this_ was madness. And sure, though she might not be in any immediate, _physical_ danger, if Vincent and Yuffie got to making out, she would certainly die a little on the inside, and then carelessly slay a number of brain and liver cells by drinking until the image was flushed from her mind.

As she and Aerith ran to intervene, she hoped it wouldn't come to that. Luckily for the two of them, though, the two aspiring lovebirds were caught up in that sort of 'highly anticipatory, slow motion effect' which somehow managed to manifest in all of those overly sappy romanciful bits.

Romanciful isn't even a real word. Just goes to show you how bad things have gotten.

Tifa and Aerith were unaffected by the localized time warp, and, if anything, this worked to their advantage, giving them about an extra... five minutes to intervene on the lip-locking.

But they were still running as fast as they could despite the generous leeway, because, come on, can former video game protagonists _ever_ settle something in a way that doesn't require massive preening, trash-talking or over-the-top ass kicking?

So when she vaulted over the table, booting Vincent directly in the side of the head in extra-super-slow-motion, she knew she was making the right decision.

As the gunslinger went down, sprawled in a heap with a possible concussion, time sped back up to normal, and Tifa landed roughly in the seat that Vincent had been occupying only seconds before, getting a sloppy, inexperienced smooch right on the cheek.

With an equally sloppy serving of tongue.

Ah well, those were the breaks of such a thankless task as the one she had undertaken.

"Wie geht es dir!" She asked cheerfully, pulling away from Yuffie and wiping the bucket's worth of saliva from her cheek.

The young, love-struck ninja blinked in surprise at the question, wondering why somebody was interrupting her oh-so-special moment with Vincent to ask how it was going.

And then she wondered why the question was in German.

And then she wondered why she was able to understand it, since, y'know, German didn't really _exist_ as a language in their pixel-licious, polygon-based world.

And then, she got back to wondering about what had happened to Vincent, and glanced up.

"Oh. My. _Gawd_!" Yuffie squealed in dismay, pulling back and seeing she had just laid one on Tifa. "Like, ew! I just totally, like, kissed you!"

Outdated teeny-bopper language, _Ahoy_!

Tifa shrugged, glancing past her to where Aerith had Vincent under the arms, and was dragging him away as quickly as possible.

"Ah, das ist okay." She shrugged, patting her younger teammate condescendingly on the head.

Tifa, really, tone it down. You've made your point. You're far more culturally savvy than the rest of us, and we can never even hope to be considered your equals.

Sheesh.

Give us an effin' break here.

"So, uh, what happened to Vincent? He and I were, like, totally connecting, yanno?" Yuffie tried after a second of staring blankly at the other woman.

Tifa shrugged, wincing a little as Aerith struggled to drag the gunslinger from the area and stash his definitely-unconscious-though-possibly-dead body somewhere where Yuffie wouldn't find him right away and try to wake him up with a kiss or something sappy like that.

"Hell if I know. Maybe he flipped out and ran off like the little nancy-boy he is. You _know_ he's not exactly suave around the ladies. Guess he figured it would be a good time to brood and reflect on Lucrecia before taking that next step and forgetting all about her to go bang a skeletal minor."

"Wait, what?" Yuffie asked, her eyes narrowed at her words. It sounded almost like Tifa was... mocking them... or...

"Or maybe he went to the can. Hell, I don't know! _I'm_ not the one trying to roll in the hay with him here! I know for a fact that Aerith and I didn't just knock him out and drag him away to keep this plot from unfolding." Tifa snapped, somewhat huffy over the attitude Yuffie was giving her, and the fact she couldn't really come up with a good, plausible lie for Vincent's sudden departure.

Jeez, you'd think with all of those "lying, vindictive Tifa" stories out there, she'd be better at making things up.

But then again, dropping that very obvious hint about what they actually _did_ do would work just as well. Yuffie wouldn't think back to this conversation for a few more chapters, and by then, Tifa was confident that she and Aerith would be long done with this one.

"Are you sure he-"

"Hey, do you want to go ride all the rollercoasters? _Twice_?" Tifa butted in, changing the subject in a vaguely bi-polar fashion, positive that her masterful eavesdropping skills would pull her through yet again.

Yuffie immediately brightened in a similarly bi-polar fashion and leapt to her feet, hopping up and down; giddy with excitement. All thoughts of any sort of romantic entanglement fled from her mind, immediately replaced with cheerful thoughts at riding all the rollercoasters in the park. Twice.

"Oh, man, that would be so cool!" She squealed, grabbing Tifa by the wrist, and pulling so hard that it nearly took the older woman's arm right out of its socket. "Let's get on the kiddie coasters first, because I'm still short enough to ride them!" She urged excitedly, dragging her along with a sudden, ludicrous burst of strength.

Tifa went along after her, just hoping that Aerith was holding up fine on her end.

_(Totally a scene shift)_

Luckily for Tifa, her current comrade in arms was certainly doing just that. And since we've got the power of omniscient narration, we can totally see what's going on with her, though the other characters aren't privy to the goings-on, so there's really no point to this scene shift, because Aerith will have to re-cap everything to Tifa anyway/.

I don't know why we even bother sometimes.

Regardless, Aerith, despite the long and arduous task of dragging away Vincent's unconscious and possibly dead body, had succeeded in that sense, and was shoving him in a Chocobo costume behind the stage in the Event Square.

Sure, she knew that once he woke up... if he woke up at all, that is, finding himself in a Chocobo costume wouldn't really keep him from getting up and going to find Yuffie. But she figured that the shock of waking up and finding himself in such a ludicrous and un-angsty predicament would _totally_ ruin his mood, and then he wouldn't be in the mood for any statutory shenanigans for a good long while.

She only wished she could be so cunning and conniving _all_ the time. Well, except for when it was one of those 'scheming, vindictive Aerith' stories. Man, those ones were a blast.

As she finished affixing the Chocobo headpiece on the costume, she stood off, brushed herself off and checked her watch, figuring that she had plenty of time to go ride the merry-go-round.

Of course, nobody really rode the merry-go-round.

Except Aerith, of course, because she's so fun and cutesy, and adorable, and we love her, we love her, we _love_ her!

And if you disagree I'll break your eye sockets.

Y'know, because _nobody_ can disagree with _my_ all-important opinion on a fictional character. Aerith is so totally the coolest character there ever was, and ever will be. And if you don't regard _my_ opinion with the utmost respect, I'll heckle you and make idle threats with bad grammar.

Murderous tangents aside, yeah, Aerith totally went to go ride the merry-go-round. And maybe get some Cotton Candy. Pink of course, because its so sweet, and that's totally the perfect confectionary snack for Aerith, because she's _sooooo_ sweet.

And if you disagree I swear I'll go through the trouble of finding out where you live, go there, and hurl a Molotov Cocktail through your window.

Dude, I'll totally do it, too, because I'm a fanfic writer, so I _obviously_ have nothing better to do with my life.

No, no. I'm kidding. Time for another scene change. And since nothing of importance to the plot is going on, we'll just skip ahead a few hours. So, we can all assume that many a roller coaster has been ridden, and that Aerith went about with her cute, lovable shenanigans, and that Vincent remained painfully unconscious on the floor, shoved into a Chocobo costume.

_(And away we go.)_

"So, this went off without much of a hitch, y'know? I'm actually pretty pleased. Usually things get all crazy. I mean, _you_ were there, and pretty obnoxious I'll add, for that Christmas story, so you know what I'm talking about. This is probably the best I've done. You make a great sidekick, y'know. You wanna team up next time we're in a story together?" Tifa prattled on, cracking open another Pistachio, and tossing the shell aside onto the mounting pile of green.

Aerith looked up from her fourteenth Cotton Candy, here eyes wider than normal in pleasant surprise.

"Really? You mean that? I'd be able to kick as much ass as I want to, right?"

"Oh, totally." Tifa nodded, cracking the shell off another nut as she spoke, chewing between sentences. "Next time there's one of those 'love triangle-y' ones, or even 'love quadrangle-y' ones, we'll be in business."

"Alright, cool. I'm up for it."

The two women were sitting in the back row of the Event Square, having ditched all of the others to take in a night of woefully pathetic theater. And, as per usual, since they had come in as a couple, they had been asked to participate in the play itself, because, y'know, these guys _never_ go to the Event Square unless they're looking to gain some romantic entanglement through their poor thespian skills.

So far, they had succeeded in keeping Yuffie and Vincent apart. Tifa had done her part by riding all the rollercoasters, twice, with Yuffie, and then playing Skee Ball and winning thousands of tickets, in order to keep the Ninja occupied with picking out prizes.

Aerith had really just headed off to Illegal Gambling Square, and lost a bunch of money on Cock Fights. But then she won it all back on Dog Fights. Oh, yeah, and she also went on the merry-go-round and all that shit.

"So, anyway, though I'm pretty sure I should be privy to this already, what exactly _did_ you do with Vincent?" Tifa asked, casting her conspirator a sidelong glance.

Aerith rolled her eyes, but indicated towards the stage anyway.

"I shoved him in a Chocobo costume behind the stage. I think you might have killed him, but either way, I think we did a... Crap."

Before Tifa had a chance to ask what had caused the sudden change in the Ancient's demeanor, she looked up at the stage, seeing someone in a Chocobo costume stagger out onto the stage, before falling over, completely ruining the scene in progress.

Everyone watched in stunned silence as a gold claw suddenly burst out through the bird's stomach, stuffing and fiber spraying up from the incision. The stuffed bird rolled and kicked in its death throes as Vincent tore his way out of it, quite possibly too brain damaged to find the zipper that would let him out the easy way.

The gunman stood up from within the belly of the now ruined costume, touching gingerly at the suspiciously boot-shaped welt on the side of his head, blood red eyes narrowing slightly.

He turned and fell to his knees, going into the throes of another trumped up angst session.

"Oh my God! I am _so_ sad and lonely and miserable!" He shouted up to the heavens, as everyone sat, transfixed, while in the back, Aerith was gripping onto Tifa hard enough to cut off her circulation, while Tifa just kept on eating her Pistachios, waiting to see how this would play out. "I don't believe that _anybody_ can blowtorch their way into me heart now!"

There wouldn't be too much of a problem unless-

"Vinnie! Like, oh my Gawd! Tifa said she thought you had gone to the can, or something!" A shrill voice from the left side of the theater called, and Tifa and Aerith's heads snapped around towards the voice, seeing Yuffie bounding exuberantly up the aisle, arms outstretched, and that cheesy bright aura surrounding her again. "I'll cheer you up snuggums!"

"Christ with a Crunch bar." Aerith muttered, shaking her head, looking towards Tifa. "Well, we're fucked. You want to go back to Illegal Gambling Square and try to drown our sorrows?"

Tifa looked at Aerith for a long moment, weighing her options, as they had gone into that weird localized time-warp thing again, and Yuffie was running and flouncing in super-duper-slow-motion.

Hell, at this rate, she probably had time to sleep on it and come to a conclusion in the morning. And hey, maybe the answer would come to her in a dream, and then all their problems would be wrapped up in a neat little package.

"We're not done-for just yet." Tifa nodded, grabbing her Cowboy hat and pulling it down on her head as she got up, Aerith still clinging to her arm like a frightened child.

"What's the plan?" The Ancient asked, glancing up at her, as Tifa pulled out her six-shooter with a grandiose flourish.

"Follow me, and make sure you get very, _very_ indignant. Think you can do that?"

"Oh man, can I!" Aerith nodded, jumping to her feet as well, starting up the center aisle behind Tifa, who was quite possibly the saddest looking fake-Cowboy ever. But hey, if Tifa could work it, who was she to complain?

Yuffie was still moving in super-duper-slow-motion, and a corny, romantic saxophone solo had started up out of fucking nowhere, signaling that, yes, it _was_ love, at last.

I mean, who are we to argue with the 'saxophone solo out of fucking nowhere'?

But as the two would-be lovers came together, embracing, much to the delight of the overly sappy crowd, Tifa jumped up on the first row bench, brandishing her six shooter, and firing into the air, cutting off that saxophone solo, and causing everyone to look up at her in shock.

"Hold it! Celibacy Sheriff!" She shouted, plucking at her shirt to show the 'Sexy Sheriff' badge that Billy the Kid had given her, making sure to cover up the 'Sexy' part of it. "Vincent, Yuffie, you two had best cease and desist with any and all shenanigans, and back away from each other with absolutely _no_ sultry eye contact!"

It was silent for a long, long minute, until a few people in the crowd started booing.

"Oh, come on, can't you see they're in love!" One of them shouted back at her, throwing a half-full box of Junior Mints at her, which she ducked out of the way from.

"In love! How do you figure that?" Tifa shouted back indignantly, as she hopped up onto the stage, ignoring the protesters, and shouldering her way between Vincent and Yuffie, aiming her six-shooter at the ninja, even though it was an empty threat. Really, even if she did shoot her, it would take off, like what? Twelve hit points? It wasn't even worth it.

"Oh come on, they're _meant_ to be together!" Someone else from the audience cut in, causing Tifa to grit her teeth, growling in frustration.

"How do you figure that!" She tried again, wanting _some_ kind of worthwhile answer from their rabid supporters.

"They were the only two optional characters! _Surely _that counts for _something_!"

"No!" Tifa retorted vehemently, straight-arming Vincent away as he tried to reach past her to embrace Yuffie. "They barely even interacted in the game. So-"

"Oh, they were just shy! You're probably just trying to break them up and get Vincent for yourself, you ugly, conniving whore!"

Tifa's eyes narrowed, and she brought her gun around towards the heckler, lip curling back into a sneer. NPCs weren't nigh indestructible. She wouldn't have any worries if she tried to off this guy.

"_That _was uncalled for!" She snapped, wondering why Aerith wasn't getting indignant yet. She was quickly losing this battle, trying to test reason against 'OMFG! They look so cute together!' "I just wanted to sit in the back of the theater and eat my mother fucking Pistachios, not sit here arguing about something so inane! Is that _too much_ to ask!"

But then again, there was no force of reason when it came to romance. After all, she had ended up with Sephiroth an _awful_ lot.

"Oh, come on! She's sixteen, and he's... Well, nobody really seems to know how old he _actually_ is! That's statutory! _Statutory_!" A woman in the middle of the theater shouted indignantly, pointing at the two of them on stage.

Tifa smiled, tipping her hat in Aerith's direction, grateful for the assist.

"So! Maybe it's not statutory in the Final Fantasy universe!"

Damn it.

"He can turn into monsters! That's bestiality!"

Way to go, Aerith! Even if that is reaching... by a lot.

"That might not be illegal here, you don't know for sure!"

Oh, come _on_.

Tifa paused, considering their position for a moment. There had to be something they could do to split these two apart. And mentioning Lucrecia just wouldn't work, because then he'd be able to use Yuffie to get over the past.

So what...

Of _course_!

With a sudden, triumphant whoop, she spun back towards the two would-be lovebirds, who had embraced one another while her back was turned, and were just about to lock lips.

"_He_ doesn't like rollercoasters!" She shouted, half-frantic, hoping that it would at least get Yuffie to turn her head.

But the ninja did her one better, letting out a shriek of disbelief, shoving Vincent away, causing him to fall off of the stage.

"How could you not like rollercoasters!" She cried, staring down at him, her big brown doe-eyes filling with tears of betrayal. "I don't think I _want_ to cheer you up any more. Or make out with you."

Vincent looked up, sulking and scowling.

"Well _fine_. I don't need you. This half-eaten box of Junior Mints will cheer me up more than you ever could." He replied icily, scooping up the box that had been thrown at Tifa, shoving the handful of mints into his mouth, still glaring at her, despite the saddened, disappointed murmur of the rabble.

Aerith jumped up from her seat in the crowd and rushed up the aisle, a wide grin splitting her features.

"We did it! We're the coolest!" She shouted high-fiving Tifa as the Martial Artist hopped down from the stage, their two sulking, heart-broken teammates paid no more mind.

However, before they had much time to pat themselves on the back, a flash of bad special effects came from the stage as Bill and Ted's phone booth appeared.

"Hey dudette, ready to go back?" Bill called, sliding the door open, everyone they had collected earlier still crammed in the confined quarters.

Tifa nodded, tipping her hat towards Aerith before making her way back up onto the stage. She crammed herself back into the phone booth with all of the historical 'dudes', and in another flash of special effects, they were gone, leaving everyone and their rather tenuous grasp on characterization.

_(Back at the Hospital)_

Tifa stepped out of the phone booth, breathing a sigh of relief, glad to have made it through another storyline relatively unscathed.

And 'Greg' and 'Jim-Jam' looked awfully happy to see her.

"Oh man, we had so much fun here!" Jim-Jam exclaimed upon seeing Tifa, hopping up out of her bed, almost unable to contain her excitement. "We got to stay up all night watching Sabado Domingo!"

Tifa shook her head good-naturedly and sighed.

"Well, hope you enjoyed it, because there isn't going to be any more of that for a long, long time. We-"

"Say, Tifa, I was wond'rin'..." One of them, from within the phone booth started, leaning out partway, looking at her hopefully.

"Yeah, Billy?" Tifa asked brightly, turning to face him, totally missing the embittered look that crossed 'Greg''s face when he saw the way they were looking at each other.

"Would you like to come back to the old west with me? I mean, how'd you like to be my Sexy Sheriff for the rest of our lives?"

Tifa looked at Billy, smiling, almost ready to accept, when she paused, glancing back at her two cohorts.

'Jim-Jam' was staring, dumbfounded at the exchange, while 'Greg' was sulking, sitting with his shoulders hunched and refusing to look at her, trembling with petulant rage.

She turned back to him, shrugging helplessly, a sad smile coming to her face.

"Sorry Billy. I've got stuff to do, and, y'know, you're going to die young and everything, so it's just... It just wouldn't work out."

She gave a little wave good-bye, before turning back towards 'Greg' and 'Jim-Jam', motioning for them to get up and get ready to go.

"You guys ready?" She asked, as the two of them latched onto her, practically jumping up and down with glee at the notion that she wanted to stay with them, rather than run off with a notorious Cowboy.

As they disappeared in a little poof of cool special effects, Billy just stared after them; crestfallen.

"Hey, wait a sec! Just how young am I going to die! Hello!"

_(He's totally not our problem anymore)_

"So, uh, what exactly is the plan here?" 'Jim-Jam' asked, looking around as they all re-appeared in the middle of the City of the Ancients, not too far from the pond where Aerith's body had been laid to rest.

"Okay, we just have to sit tight until we figure out what situation we're in, and then react accordingly." Tifa explained, causing the other woman to frown thoughtfully.

"So, it's sort of like Quantum Leap?" She asked expectantly.

"Well, no. We don't end up as different people... unless its from inconsistent characterization. Zing!" She paused, clearing her throat before continuing. "From the looks of it, this is going to be one of those Aerith Resurrection ones, judging by what Cloud is up to over there, and I-"

She stopped short, her eyes narrowing, a dark red gleam sparking in them. Her lip curled back into a sneer, and she brought her hands together, cracking her knuckles.

"Uh, Tifa?" 'Greg' started warily, not really liking the looks of this. At all.

"How dare he bring that miserable wretch back to life!" She screeched, furious, her voice sort of distorted and ominous. "He's meant to be with _me_! Goddamn it, Cloud is _mine_, and that bitch I going to wish she had stayed dead when _I'm_ done with her!"

'Greg' and 'Jim-Jam' just stared in confusion, seeing Cloud and Aerith embracing at the edge of the pond, all of the other AVALANCHE members, save for Tifa, rejoicing at seeing the Ancient miraculously brought back to life.

Tifa growled low in her throat and started towards them, muttering to herself about how she should have taken care of Aerith long ago, leaving her two tag-alongs staring at her in open-mouth bewilderment.

"Uh, what should we..."

"Stop her! We can't let her get away!" 'Greg' cut in, running after Tifa and lunging, grabbing her around the waist and throwing her to the ground, jumping on top of her in an attempt to restrain her.

'Jim-Jam' leapt on top of them, adding to the pile, trying to help keep her pinned down.

"Oh, you're on _her_ side, aren't you! That prissy little bitch has ruined my life! Well, I'm going to see to it that Cloud stays with _me_, and I'll go through all of you first if I have to!" Tifa continued ranting, while 'Greg' and 'Jim-Jam' looked at each other helplessly, not sure of what to do.

"What the Hell is going on?" 'Jim-Jam' asked, eyes wide, glancing over her shoulder to where it was still all hugs and puppies among the other members of AVALANCHE, while Tifa was fighting the two of them tooth and nail, screaming for blood.

"Evil Tifa story, I guess." 'Greg' shrugged; helpless. With their oh-so-knowledgeable guide currently foaming at the mouth, they were S.O.L. for sure.

Unless they figured out a way to save the day. Of course, they were original characters, so it's pretty plausible that they'd be able to come up with a miraculous plan.

Which they would have to, because they probably couldn't just hold her down until the happy storyline ran its course.

"So, what do we do now?"

"Kill that goddamn whore!" Tifa shrieked, pulling her arm free and swiping at them before 'Jim-Jam' could force her back down.

"Okay, yes, that _could_ work." 'Greg' nodded condescendingly, not really wanting to make her any angrier, "But I think we should wait for the next chapter before making any decisions."

END ELEVEN

Ooh, Evil Tifa cliché. That ought to be interesting. Hope the Yuffentine chapters weren't too painful to wade through.

Promise there won't be so much of a wait before the next chapter.


	12. Using Jokes Readers Already Forgot About

Alright, the Evil Tifa cliché. And alright for going back to a joke from the second chapter (see if you can spot it). Stories that put a character in a bad light for no real reason really aren't my cup of tea, so it's basically all stock knowledge I'm going on, having only disgustedly skimmed through some of these types.

The disclaimer is the same as its always been.

_(And away we go!)_

"Um... okay, so what do we do now?" 'Jim-Jam' asked from where she was dog-piled on top of 'Greg', both of them trying to hold Tifa down, the other woman still shrieking and trying to throw them off.

'Greg' looked up, glanced back down at Tifa, and then up again, eyes squinched shut as he thought about it.

"Well, we could always try to wait until next chapter again, I guess; get a little more time to think this through... I really don't know what to do in these situations. I've just been following her lead for the most part."

"Let me up you idiots! I only want to kill Aerith, but if you get in my way-"

"Shut up! They'll hear you and you'll blow our cover!" 'Jim-Jam' hissed frantically, clapping her hands down over Tifa's mouth, glancing down at 'Greg' helplessly.

"Alright, see? We're going to have to figure _something_ out."

'Jim-Jam' nodded, looking over to where the AVALANCHE members were, completely oblivious to the real peril afoot.

"We could uh... well, we could just sit on her until things run their course, or you could get us out of here or something."

"I don't think that would really work. She'd probably be able to overpower us eventually, and then she'd just start tearing everyone a new ass. I mean, she's really kind of been using this personal vendetta thing as a carte blanche to just beat the snot out of people. If it didn't turn me on so damn much, I wouldn't still be tagging along with her."

Um... ew.

"So, what _should_ we do? I mean, if we just let her go off and do her thing, they'd all wonder why she was going totally batshit for no reason, and then they'd probably just gang up on her instead of trying to get her psychiatric help and – ow! She's biting me! She's _biting_ me!"

'Jim-Jam' tried jerking her hand free from Tifa's mouth, but the other woman's teeth were clamped down on her like a steel trap. Panicking, 'Jim-Jam' brought her left hand down, punching Tifa in the back of the head in an attempt to get her to let go.

Tifa let out a slight squeal of surprise as 'Jim-Jam''s fist connected, knocking her head forward against the ground, and it was enough for 'Jim-Jam' to rip her hand free, blood streaming from the wound and running down her forearm, while Tifa, shaking off the hit, merely sneered, spitting out the piece of flesh she had torn off.

"I _told_ you to let me up! I'll kill that bitch, and anyone else that tries to stop me!" She raged, redoubling her efforts to get free, while 'Jim-Jam' tried to stop the tears from coming, and 'Greg', half frantic, tried to figure out a way he could possibly...

Ah _ha_!

"'Jim-Jam', start punching her into squealing submission, and don't stop until I give the signal." He ordered, squirming free of his place between Tifa and 'Jim-Jam' in their unceremonious dog pile, making sure to totally keep his hands to himself, being the strangely platonic friend he was. 'Jim-Jam' shrugged, and brought her bleeding hand down against Tifa's throat, cutting off her enraged ranting.

She used her weight to keep Tifa pinned down, raining blow after bloody-handed blow on her exposed back, not sure why 'Greg' decided to resort to such a tactic, but not really caring, as long as Tifa couldn't bite her again.

'Greg' made his way over to his burlap sack, which he had dropped during all of the hub-bub.

_And it gave me an excuse to use the word hub-bub again._ Whoo! That line will _never_ get played out! Yes, yes, I know. A fucking laugh riot I ain't, and that's the last time hub-bub will appear in my story.

For real.

He hastily opened it and up-ended it, letting all of the knick-knacks and miscellaneous items he had collected as swag fall to the ground; creating a pile of goods which, by all accounts would not have managed to fit into such a sack.

But no matter. Now he and 'Jim-Jam' were going to do what they had intended to do eleven chapters ago.

Making his way back over to the obligatory, one-sided ass-stompin', he came to a stop by 'Jim-Jam' motioning for her to stop, the sheer volume of Tifa's squealing a sure sign she had been punched thoroughly into submission.

'Jim-Jam' got up, pulling Tifa along with her, before turning and slinging her heavily into the kidnapping sack, 'Greg' tying it shut once Tifa was in there.

However, the crisis was not totally averted, as Tifa was still shrieking at them, renewing her struggles all over again, writhing and kicking within the confines of the burlap sack, trying to get free.

But 'Greg' wasted no time in gawking, making his way back over to his pile of swag, and picking up the heaviest thing he could get his hands on, before turning and hurling it down onto the twisting, shrieking figure within the sack.

With a muted 'ow' and a slight thud, Tifa went still and silent, leaving 'Greg' and 'Jim-Jam' standing over the sack, staring down at it, slightly winded and at a total loss for words.

After a few minutes though, 'Greg' broke the silence and knelt to pick up the small metal bucket he had thrown at Tifa, shooting Jim-Jam a smug look.

"And you said we didn't _need_ the Citronella candle. 'Oh, why should _we_ worry about Mosquitos!'" He mocked, pulling a face when he saw the dent in the side of it; the wax cracked from the impact with Tifa's head.

"Well, I didn't think you were going to use it for something like _that_." She paused, frowning a little, scrubbing a hand over her currently bald scalp. "She's probably going to be real mad when she wakes up, you know."

'Greg' just shrugged, tossing the now wrecked candle aside, before shoving his hands into the pockets of his duster, rolling his shoulders distractedly.

"Yeah, maybe. But hey, if we get hospitalized again, at least we'll get to stay up all night watching Sabado Domingo." He paused, glancing over his shoulder to where the AVALANCHE members were _still_ lauding Aerith's miraculous return, his lips pulling into a grim line. "But we're going to have to figure out what to do first."

"Well, like what? Unless we could find a way to string her up like a puppet or something, or... no, that wouldn't work. We need to keep her in the bag, in case she wakes up in the middle of this. So..."

She trailed off hopelessly, left hand still on her scalp, right hand held out in front of her as the blood continued dripping from the wound, thinking hard about what to do, while simultaneously looking for something she could bandage her hand with.

Of course, she was at a super-deficiency here, having just gotten back into the action. But perhaps 'Greg', who was busy picking through the pile of swag that had been liberated from the kidnapping sack, would have an idea.

Well, he damn well needed to come up with _something_, or else this chapter would go fucking _nowhere._

Luckily, his pile of swag held the answer to all their problems. Be it the Citronella candle he had busted Tifa in the head with, or one of 'Jim-Jam''s brand new wigs they 'Greg' had tossed in the sack for when she got tired of the new, somewhat classy skinhead look she was currently sporting.

Pausing as he picked up the mass of synthetic brown hair, he held it up to check the length of it, paused, looked over at 'Jim-Jam', paused, glanced over at the burlap sack, paused, started to put the wig on his own head, but then he stopped dead, nose scrunching up as he shook his head before looking back at 'Jim-Jam', holding the wig up as realization slowly dawned on him.

"Hey, Jan, come here." He nodded, causing 'Jim-Jam' to make her way over, glancing dubiously at him and the wig.

"You can just call me 'Jim-Jam', yanno. It just gets too weird if Tifa's calling me 'Jim-Jam', and you're calling me 'Jan', and then Krauser or Januaria will probably show up and be calling me 'Janichyka'. And then some numb-nuts will probably come along, and be like, 'Hey! Wasn't your name something Asian sounding? Like Fa-L-"

'Greg' quickly threw his hands up, to stop her from fully revealing their terrible secret, before tossing the wig to her, which she just stared at in confusion for a long moment.

"Okay, 'Jim-Jam' it is then. Now listen up. I think I have a plan. You're going to have to put on that wig, go over there, and you're going to have to act like Tifa." He explained, gesturing with his hands as he spoke, as if attempting to outline a complicated football play or something of the sort.

"What makes you think I can do that?" 'Jim-Jam' asked staring at him like she couldn't believe his master plan entailed nothing more than _that_. "All I know about Tifa is that I hate her 'just because'. I don't know how to be her. You do it."

"See, I would, but then they'd probably start to wonder why Tifa had a Soul Patch, and such rippling washboard abs. And, uh, you know, it would help if the person acting as Tifa was actually _female_. And your brand new eyes are a close enough match, and this wig is close to what her hair is. And your... endowments are close to what hers were before she pulled out those horrible implant things. And she _did_ lend you those clothes, so, that counts for _something_." He shrugged helplessly, his 'glow-in-the-freakin'-dark' eyes widening as he brought his hands up, ready to beg and plead with her to help him out.

"I don't know she acts either. I mean, we had 'spineless lovelorn Tifa' at first, and once we got out of that situation, she beat me nearly to death and stabbed me in the eyes with chopsticks. How is she supposed to interact with people normally?"

"Well, she's pretty cool. But she's had a rough eight years in fanfic limbo, so, I mean, you have to forgive her if she goes a _little_ over the top and out of character at times. And to be fair, you were _really_ annoying. But, anyhow, just be nice for the most part, get all their names right, and I'm sure they won't even notice."

'Jim-Jam' eventually nodded, taking the wig and putting it on, adjusting it until it sat right on her head, before glancing back at 'Greg', frowning.

"Do I look like her?" She asked, twirling once, expectant.

"Y... okay, no. You don't." He admitted, getting to his feet, and grabbing her by the shoulders, slowly turning her until they were facing the _still_ happening Aerith resurrection moment. "Okay, look. Right now, this is all about those two. Nobody will be paying attention to Tifa, because they're all going to be fucking shocked at seeing Aerith alive again."

"Wasn't something like this supposed to happen in _our_ story line? Like after I got blown up in the fifth-to-last chapter of course." She cut in, glancing back over her shoulder at him, seeing him nodding emphatically.

"Yes! Exactly. And it's a happy fun-time occasion. Except for you, because you're probably supposed to be bummed out and _super-duper_ jealous. So now, go over there and do the best you can. You may not have black and pink hair, you may not have neon pink cat eyes, and you may not have that fucked up accent anymore, but _dammit_, you're still Janichkya Ivanka Robinasayakanovich-Schweizer; crazy wilderness freakshow animal girl, and super-spy assassin extraordinaire."

'Jim-Jam' just blinked at him, frowning.

"Wow... that was really, really inspiring." She breathed, left hand going up to her heart, a slight flush on her cheeks. "Right now, I want nothing more than to go over there and do a great job at this."

And there goes another one of 'Greg''s ill-defined abilities. Power to give impassioned, inspiring speeches to rouse the morale of his fellow deathcult assassins when the situation calls for some dramatic catalyst to get the ball rolling.

He nodded to her, pushing her lightly towards the plot in progress.

"Alright, go on. Now just remember, what are you going to do?"

"I'm gonna-"

"-Kill that whore!"

'Jim-Jam' and 'Greg' paused, their impassioned speeches and all plans forgotten as they turned towards the sack, seeing Tifa writhing around inside of it again, having regained consciousness.

'Greg' let out a disbelieving sigh, glancing at 'Jim-Jam', throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"What. The. Crap." He sighed, reaching down and picking up the Citronella candle again, making his way over to the bag and bringing it up over his head, trying to judge where Tifa's head was. He glanced over his shoulder, casting 'Jim-Jam' a hopeful grin "Good luck. If you get stuck, just give me a shout and I'll see if I can help you out."

"What about you?"

"Oh, I'm just going to hang out here, and try to make sure Tifa stays in the bag."

"Alright. Good luck with that." She nodded, before turning and making her way towards the pond that, up until recently had been Aerith's grave.

As she made her way over, she kept replaying 'Greg''s impassioned, off the cuff speech. She _could_ do this. Heck, she _would_ do it! She _had_ to do it, and in a charming fashion in order to give the readers something to like about her.

'Jim-Jam', baby, this is your time to shine!

Her stomach was clenching on itself a little, but she was determined not to let her nervousness ruin this for them, as, basically, she had to do it to gain some measure of acceptance, among her peers and anyone reading this.

Stumbling her way into the clearing, she made her way over to them, mustering up the most carefree grin she manage, shouldering her way into their midst, before clapping her hand down one Aerith's shoulder, causing the Ancient to turn slightly, looking mildly confused.

"Hi guys!" She chirped happily, waving with her still bleeding hand, realizing a little too late that she had forgotten to take care of it in all the sudden brainstorming.

All of the excited chatter died off immediately and all eyes were suddenly on her. Even the sappy, romantic music that had cued up when Aerith was revived suddenly cut off in a squeal; like a needle scraping across a record.

'Jim-Jam' looked around, all pleasantries forgotten for the moment, wonder what the Hell a moving musical score was doing in a piece of writing.

I mean, come on, have some standards here.

"Way to ruin the songfic moment! ...Yeesh." Yuffie sighed, glaring at her, before putting the needle back down on the Phonograph set up next to her, the sappy music starting up again.

"Uh, sorry." She said, coughing slightly to try and cover for her discomfort and embarrassment. "I was ah... running a little late, you know, and I was just _so_ excited at seeing Aerith alive again that I just couldn't help myself."

"Running a little late?" Yuffie scoffed, folding her arms across her chest, glowering at the other woman. "Huh! Well, that's funny, because we didn't even invite you to this momentous occasion."

'Jim-Jam' blinked, tucking some hair behind her left ear, pouting.

"What do you mean I wasn't invited?" She asked, looking at all the other AVALANCHE members in turn, a petulant frown tugging at her pouty features. "I thought we were all friends. I'm _just_ as happy to see Aerith alive as the rest of you are."

"Tch. Yeah, I'll bet. You didn't love Aerith the way we do." Cait Sith sniffed, sticking his tongue out from his perch on the mog robot, who was also giving her a disapproving glare.

"Those are some pretty haughty words coming from somebody that doesn't wear pants." She shot back hotly, noticing the way everybody tensed, Cloud pulling Aerith behind him protectively. "And secondly, you're a robot! You're incapable of human emotions! And _thirdly_, couldn't Reeve just show up! I mean if the gang's all here, why'd he send his robot instead of coming in person! Huh! You wanna explain that to me, Puss in Boots!"

"I ah... look, Tifa, we don't want any _trouble _here..." Cait replied slowly, hands up as if to try and ward her off. Well, that and turn the subject away from the whole 'still going around as Cait Sith despite the need for the robot being long past' thing.

Oh yeah, great segue there, jackass.

"Yeah, don't go biting our heads off just because you're upset that Aerith is back, and _she's_ with Cloud now." Yuffie put in, still huffy, hands on her hips.

"What are you talking about!" 'Jim-Jam' cried indignantly, brown eyes looking around frantically, trying to figure out what was going on, though all she got in return was guarded, wary stares, a few of them holding their weapons down by their sides, as if ready to attack should the need arise. "I'm not upset about that. I mean, come on, you didn't invite me along because you thought I'd be jealous because she didn't want to be with me? That's awfully silly. I mean, I _like_ Aerith and all, but, yanno..."

"We were talking about Cloud choosing her over you." Cid gritted out from behind her, hissing through clenched teeth, hand cupped to her ear so that only she could hear him. "God, I knew you were just some kind of dumb slut, but this is unbelievable."

"Oh. Ha _ha_, Cid. Real original." 'Jim-Jam' sniped flatly, rolling her eyes. "'Oh, oh, oh! She has a voluptuous figure and wears a miniskirt. She's _obviously_ a whore.' Come back when you get some original material you dumb piece of shit. My _God_, you thought I was after Cloud! I thought he was gay! Gay with that guy!" She cried, pointing towards Vincent, whose reaction was rather unreadable, given the three square inches of his face that could actually be seen.

Alas, that bit of it was true. Back in the story that she had been created solely for, she had often made rather snide allusions berating Cloud's (and subsequently Vincent's) sexuality.

Because, y'know. Any guys that spend that much time doing there hair just _have_ to be a bit 'Ting-a-ling-a-ling'.

Of course, such a gross misconception was _exactly_ what would lead to her violent death in an explosion in the fifth to last chapter of the story she stemmed from. Seriously, she was going to be doused with Super-Extra-Hold Aquanet, lit on fire, and then, while her flesh was bubbling and peeling back, they were going to throw her in the munitions storage room at the bad guys' lair, and kill her in a manly, super macho explosion.

"Oh sure Tifa, that'll win him over to your side. Gay rumors, that's one you haven't tried already. It isn't going to work, because Cloud's got Aerith; he's not interested in a two-cent hussy like you." Yuffie started, throwing herself back into the verbal attacks on our beloved, incognito 'Jim-Jam'.

"Hey, I already said it to that asshole over there, and I'll say it to you too. New material. Get it. For fuck's sake, I'm wearing a stylish tracksuit! With a hilarious logo tee under it! And if you keep up with these stock insults, I'll break your fucking-"

She stopped short, index finger raised high in the air like some great orator, as she realized exactly what was happening; clapping her bleeding hand over her mouth to cover up her squeal of suppressed anger. First, she had made the faux-pas of calling attention to my current lack of descriptiveness in this story by flat out describing her outfit. Secondly, she had gone back into that whole "Bitchy Female" persona in her interaction with all of the unwitting AVALANCHE members.

Dear God, she was in 'Jim-Jam' mode, not 'Convincing fake Tifa' mode.

She pried her hand away from her mouth, took a deep breath, and fixed them all with the most disappointed, disgusted look she could manage.

"Hey, you're deliberately baiting me so that I come off as violent and unstable!" She cried, lips pressing together in a thin line, eyes narrowing. "That's **_cheating_**!"

Of course, despite calling them on it, her phrasing and emphasis on it didn't seem to dissuade any of them, as now all of them were looking ready to gang up on her at any moment.

However, Aerith was staring at the streak of blood on 'Jim-Jam''s face, left by her still bloody hand. She frowned a little, eyes flooded with concern.

"Oh, Tifa, what happened to your hand?" She asked worriedly, reaching out towards her, though Cloud grabbed his recently-returned sweetheart, holding her back. Despite all of the others being distrustful of Tifa and her obsessive desire to have Cloud all to herself, Aerith was still all-loving, and concerned for Tifa, no matter what murderous vendetta the martial artist might have against her.

'Jim-Jam' paused, looking at the Ancient, sighing. This was going to have to be one totally _awesome _lie to win back AVALANCHE.

"I fought a fucking bear on my way here, because it was headed this way too! I... was so worried that it could make its way over here and possibly hurt you, that I was just overcome with a loving, concerned bloodlust, because I couldn't bear the thought that you could have been eaten by that ferocious animal and taken away from us _yet_ again!"

"Oh, bullshit." Barret sighed, only half-attempting to cover it up by pretending he was coughing.

'Jim-Jam' paused, glancing over her shoulder at him, sighing, her emotional words, with the rousing background music provided by that Phonograph that Yuffie had with her, were quickly forgotten about, leaving her glowering at him without any sort of background accompaniment.

"Dude, what's _your_ excuse? You and T- I mean, you and me are like _best friends_. How come you're siding against me? And don't even give me a reason to get started on you." She continued, turning her attention to Nanaki, who had yet to say anything, or react to any sort of rant.

"Eh. Everybody else is against ya right now, so I figure I'll just throw my lot in with them. Mob mentality and all that, yo." Barret replied, offering no further explanation.

She opened her mouth to retort, when a high-pitched, fearful cry of horror pierced through the air, coupled with a woman's shout of rage and pure, unadulterated fury.

"'Jim-Jam'! 'Jim-Jam', help! Oh Jesus, she's gotten out of the bag! God, quit pretending to be Tifa and help me out here, _please_! Agh! Ow, ow!"

'Greg''s pleading wail caused everyone to stop dead, and 'Jim-Jam' winced, her head whipping around instinctively towards the sound of the struggle, almost causing the wig to fly off her head. She clamped her hand down on the now askew hairpiece, realizing that everybody was now looking towards the source of the noise as well, though they luckily couldn't see 'Greg' yet. However, Aerith was still staring at her, eyebrow piqued questioningly.

"A... uh, see! See! That's what I was talking about! Why, right now, that poor park ranger may very well be mauled to death by another vicious bear!" 'Jim-Jam' exclaimed, voice far too over-loud and frantic for her liking.

This whole operation was quickly falling to shambles.

Oh _why_ did I think bringing 'Jim-Jam' back into this story would be a good idea!

"'Jim-Jam', for the love of... Good Christ, this is Chapter Nine all over again!"

Cloud, his arm still protectively around Aerith's waist, looked towards the others, not seeming very thrilled with the shrieking victim not too far away.

"Uh... you think we should go help that guy or something?" He asked blankly, his voice inflecting that he wasn't thinking very highly of his own suggestion. The others all seemed to echo his sentiment; not concerned in the least with poor 'Greg''s predicament.

"Nah. Aerith is back, so let's all go party!" Yuffie suggested, before shooting 'Jim-Jam' a dark look. "Tifa can come only if Aerith says its okay."

"Of course it is!" Aerith chirped, nodding emphatically. "Didn't you hear her impassioned speech? She fought a fucking bear just to make sure nothing bad would happen to me. Now let's all go get drunk."

And just like that, they all turned and headed for one of the long-empty Shell structures dotting the rather barren landscape, with full intent to get liquored up and just hang out in the background of the story, while Cloud and Aerith got 'reacquainted', and Tifa, her hatred fueled further by copious amounts of alcohol, would simply fume and rant and plot Aerith's demise.

However, poor, rattled 'Jim-Jam' stayed behind, peering towards the source of 'Greg''s pleas for help, worried sick, and possessing half a mind to go make sure that nothing... non-consensual happened to her fellow deathcult assassin.

And just how the Hell had Tifa gotten out of the bag? Since they hadn't been graced with a scene shift to explain it, perhaps…..

"Perhaps it'll be explained in the next chapter!" She exclaimed hopefully, trying to steady herself and end the chapter as soon as possible. Once they were thrown into that sort of existential limbo that existed between chapters, she'd have time to think this through, and maybe come up with a stellar plan and pull herself back together.

However, the chapter didn't end at her command, leaving her standing there, looking up at the sky, wondering why it wasn't working.

"I _said_, perhaps we'll find out the extent of 'Greg''s predicament in the next chapter." She tried again, still to no avail. She was going to try a third time, but stopped herself just in time as she heard footsteps approaching. She just hoped it was one of the others coming to make an ominous threat about her leaving Cloud and Aerith alone, or else. Something like that would stop the action cold.

"Tifa? Are you okay? You're acting a _lot_ different from how you were last chapter. I _know_ this is that whole 'Tifa's evil and jealous and vindictive so let's all bash on her' but you just don't really seem on top of your game today. Is everything alright?"

'Jim-Jam' turned, seeing Aerith standing not too far away, staring at her with true, 'honest to God, not mandated by the plotline' concern.

She opened her mouth to reply, her left hand still gripping at her wig, but even as she did, she couldn't find the words. She needed help; bad. So far she hadn't been found out, but she couldn't go on like this. Besides, the tears were already starting to flow, and, as we all know, once that starts, begging for help won't be far off.

As the tears started rolling hot and fast down her cheeks, she took in a choking breath and pulled the wig away from her head, revealing her bald, still stapled scalp.

"I'm not Tifa. My name's 'Jim-Jam', and I'm one of her reformed uber-villain tag-alongs." She admitted, wringing the mass of hair between her hands, unable to contain the sobs that wracked her body. Aerith just stood silently, listening as she went on, unable to stop herself; needing to talk to _somebody_. "Tifa went all crazy-nutso on us, so 'Greg' made me put my wig on and come here to act like Tifa so it wouldn't end up cliché, but I don't know what I'm doing, and I don't think anybody believes my awesome lies, and now Tifa's doing unmentionable things to 'Greg', and I'm screwing up terribly, and I just want to go back to my own story, and I'm so useless and- and _why can't I end the goddamn chapter_!" She shrieked, falling to her knees in anguish, throwing her wig down in defeat.

She was a little surprised when Aerith placed an arm around her shoulders, trying to coddle her and stop her tears, shushing her.

"Okay, okay, just calm down sweetie. Look, it'll be okay. You're doing a _great_ job as 'bitchy, indignant, and insanely jealous Tifa'. Since I wholeheartedly support Tifa's current, crazy vendetta, I'll help you out so she can stop being all evil, and you can move on to something a little less….. harrowing."

'Jim-Jam' glanced up hopefully, swiping the back of her hand across her face, though she totally missed the thick ropes of mucus dangling from her nostrils, snorting in an undignified manner to try and get rid of them.

"Y-you really mean it?"

Aerith, in a very motherly, loving fashion, wiped 'Jim-Jam''s nose for her, nodding lightly.

"Of course. I'll tell you everything you need to know….. at the beginning of the next chapter."

END TWELVE

"Oh hey!" 'Jim-Jam' exclaimed, brightening up a little, seeing those two glorious little words marking the end of the chapter. "How'd you manage to do that? I mean, Tifa and 'Greg' can do it, but when I tried-"

"'Jim-Jam', sweetie, when it says 'END TWELVE', that means 'END TWELVE'."

"Right, right. My bad."

END TWELVE (for real this time).

Well, what have we here? 'Jim-Jam' having a panic-stricken breakdown? 'Greg' victim to the murderous machinations of Evil Tifa? Aerith on the assist _again_? How will things turn out for our protagonists? Well, it'll obviously turn out okay in the end, you know, because otherwise, they'd fail at their mission, and probably just give up out of spite or something. But, anyhow, next chapter we'll find out just how good of a Tifa coach Aerith can be.


	13. Stealing Jokes Readers Probably Recogniz

Well, I don't know. I had high expectations for the Evil Tifa cliché, but this part just didn't end up as I had envisioned (read: Turned out as a bunch of crap). Minor set-back. I promise to get back to being mildy funny once I shove this out of the way. I've been skimming through a bunch of rather gag-inducing high school ones, and have some notes as to what niche they fit into, as in 'Barret: Drop-out? Never around.' And I had an idea for an unrelated chapter, and wondering what could be done with that.

Grit it out kids. Grit it out. And then 'Jim-Jam''s time to shine will be over before we realize it. And throw me reviews before I get all mopey. And yes, what Aerith says about 'Jim-Jam' was my original intentions for her. Now I'm not sure if I should have brought her back. But, with the way I was going to do this cliché, I needed her back like that. Didn't quite work though. Ah well.

Everything that isn't explicitly mine, isn't.

_(Start the chapter and end the horror)_

"Well, yeah, I like the color pink-"

"Me too!" 'Jim-Jam' squealed elatedly, her left hand going to her chest for a moment as she spoke of herself. "My eyes and hair used to be this really great hot pink color, but after the... savage beating I received in the third chapter, I've become kind of generic and bald."

"Wow! You had pink hair? That's just the coolest! If I could've pulled off the look, I would have totally dyed my hair pink." Aerith explained, idly twirling a lock of her chestnut hair around her finger.

"I really liked it. But I mean, I _guess_ it _was_ really gaudy. So it had to go. And, you know, in turn, _I_ had to go because I looked really tacky, and the readers don't really seem to _like_ me."

Aerith nodded sympathetically, still sitting with an arm around the other woman's shoulders.

"Well, hate to break it to you, but from the get-go, you were designed to be annoying, and get kicked out of the story in the third chapter, with the sole purpose of coming back just in time for the 'Evil Tifa ARF' story, so you could try your hand at being Tifa, and then the gang would be back the way it was meant to be from the start, just in time for the high school cliché."

'Jim-Jam' blinked harshly, shrugging.

"How do you know all of that?" She asked, scooting over a little, attempting to get away from Aerith and her suddenly _extreme_ case of plot-line clairvoyance. However, the Ancient just shrugged, glancing up at the sky.

"I dunno. How can I make so many grating pop culture references whenever the brain behind this fiasco runs out of original material? I mean, now that I'm learning all of this new stuff about _you_, I can't remember who won Bud Bowl Eight. See? We just say whatever the author wants us to. Not my fault, really. I just work with what they give me."

A grin started to tug at the corner of 'Jim-Jam''s mouth at the comment, but quickly stopped when she realized she had heard that joke somewhere before. While she and 'Greg' were watching TV during their hospital stay. And even when it had been used in the original and proper context, it had only been mildly amusing to begin with.

I mean, a Bud Bowl reference in the Final Fantasy world was not only tacky and unfunny, it was also severely out of place.

"Wasn't that 'Bud Bowl Eight' line from an episode of the Simp-"

"You know what I haven't had in a while?" Aerith butted in, cutting her off. "Big League Chew."

"Uh, hel_lo_? That was from an episode of Family G-"

"Oh! Oh damn, the chapter started! Let's get to work!" Aerith announced, getting to her feet and brushing her sundress off, extending a hand to help 'Jim-Jam' up, glad that the punctual resumption of this plot had saved her from having to admit that I'm _not_funny.

In the least.

(And please, no reviews, stating that, 'OMG you're totally funny'. I'm just being a dick right now.)

As is always the case with this story.

Uh, anyhow, stolen humor aside, 'Jim-Jam' had to pull things together, after the abysmal showing she had last chapter (insert obligatory begging for more reviews on chapter twelve. I'll win you _all_ back next chapter.).

But 'Greg' had been an awful Tifa coach, even with his off-the-cuff speeches. What she needed now was somebody that knew how Tifa should act in these situations.

And that person would definitely be Aerith. Because in these stories, when Tifa decided to throw down and choke someone out in a bold attempt to regain Cloud's attention, Aerith was just about _always_ the one getting choked out. Hence the 'Evil Tifa ARF' genre.

"Alright! Are you ready to become the best fake Tifa since... well, I dunno, since the last time an evil clone of Tifa has come along to wreak havoc on us?" Aerith asked, causing 'Jim-Jam' to nod readily, though she paused, frowning as she held up her right hand.

"Yeah... but could we do something about my hand finally? I've been bleeding nonstop since last chapter, and y'know, bloodloss." She shrugged, causing Aerith to roll her eyes.

"Okay, hand first, and _then_ are you ready to be the best fake Tifa ever?"

_(Alright, we've already done this little song and dance last chapter. It's tedious and repetitive. Let's see what's up with our currently evil protagonist and 'Greg'.)_

"Alright, now listen up!" Tifa seethed, tightening her grip and yoking 'Greg''s head back until he was wincing up at her from his spot on the ground, one hand futilely trying to pull his hair free from her vice-like grip, the other one pinching desperately on a pressure point, though his efforts were totally in vain, as her flat-out insanity rendered her immune to any and all nerve pinches.

"Ow! Ow! C'mon Tifa, I thought we were pals!" He whined in a very un-awesome manner, wincing as tears stung his eyes from the harsh tugging on his scalp. Great, now, not only would he have that odd 'not quite a mullet, but at the same time not exactly _not_ a mullet' 'do going on, he'd also be missing patches of hair and scalp if she didn't stop _yanking_ on it. Ah well, at least his dangerously good looks would make up for it. Sorta.

"What kind of 'pal' won't help me put my murderous plans into effect! You'd rather bludgeon me with a Citronella candle and tie me in a bag!" She raged on, pointing up at the nasty wound left by said candle, a four inch long gash running from just above her right eye back along her scalp, hair matted with blood and skull open, blood running from it, and what he could only assume to be her brain was slightly visible.

Oh Jesus, it was _horrible_. She looked disgusting; terrifying. And with such a disfiguring wound as _that_, there was even less of a chance that Cloud would want her now.

"Look, I'm sorry, we just didn't want you to get hurt! It was for your own good, I'm serious! And please, please, _please_ stop pulling my hair!" He interjected fearfully, glow-in-the freakin'-dark eyes squinched shut, tears beading out from the corners of his eyelids.

"For my own good!" She spat, leaning in closer to him, so close that her breath grazed across his brow as she spoke, yanking even harder on his hair regardless of his pleas, forcing his back to bend at an angle that was nearly humanly impossible, his lips pulled tight across his teeth in a pained, fearful grimace. "The only thing you _should_ be doing for me is helping me tear those two disgusting lovebirds apart."

"That's why I sent 'Jim-Jam' ahead." He tried desperately as he felt a few hanks of hair pulling free from his scalp, and not finding anymore backwards bend in his spine or legs to move any further. "She got sent in as the decoy, to... lull them into a false sense of security, you know? So that way, you can strike later. Much, _much_ later, when they aren't expecting it. But for now, why don't we just sit tight, and reorganize the kidnapping sack, huh?"

But Tifa just laughed sinisterly at his sad, sad, explanation, her eyes narrowing as she eased her grip a little, gripping at the collar of his duster with her other hand now.

"That plan is _so_ fucking devious." She smirked, leaning in even closer, until her lips were brushing against his, laughing against his pained, shell-shocked grimace. "Now come here, so I can get back at Cloud by doing unmentionable things to you."

"Um... that's really not healthy behavior Tif. I mean, can't you just use me to get _over_ him? By all accounts, hooking up with me _won't_ get his attention in the way you hop-"

He was cut off as she crushed her lips to his, fierce and demanding. His eyes flew open and he resumed his feeble struggles against her overpowering, super-bitch strength, but it was still useless, and he could only yelp like a little girl when her teeth snagged hold of his lower lip, tugging harshly when he didn't respond to the kiss.

Briefly, his pre-ordained death flashed before his eyes. Much like 'Jim-Jam', he was meant to have died in the storyline he originated from. Only, in his case, Tifa ended up tracking him down after he tried to give her some forced lovin' while she was their captive. Of course, it went into one of those situations where they had an unarmed fight to the death, and despite _still _being injured, and also beaten and malnourished by the bad guys, Tifa managed to best him, and out of some vicious snap of vengeful bloodlust, she had cornered him, pinned him down and broke his neck effortlessly.

Oh sure, it was a shitty way to go and all, but at least he had kind of gotten off on it, up until that whole broken neck part. Hey, he couldn't really help it. He had been designed to be all creepy and obsessed with Tifa, so really, you can't fault the poor guy for something that was pre-ordained in his head from the get-go.

But now, in this situation, Tifa was so crazily OOC, and had him so paralyzed with fear that he was totally not aroused in the least by the kissing, or the whole Dominatrix kick.

Well, okay. Maybe a _little_...

She pulled back, yanking his head forward so she could look him straight in the eye, grinning wickedly.

"Well, since you were such a _helpful_ boy in putting a plan against Aerith into effect for me, I should repay you somehow. And I think we both know exactly what you'd like me to do, mmm?"

"Help me reorganize the kidnapping sack?" 'Greg' guessed eagerly, hoping she'd get the idea and head over to the spilled pile of swag. There _had_ to be something he could bludgeon her with over there.

But she just shook her head, running a finger down the ridges of his washboard abs, a decidedly wicked glint coming to her eyes.

"You silly boy. You don't understand how this works, do you? In these stories, I'm a manipulative, evil, overzealous whore, and I'm willing to _destroy_ anybody that stands in my way. Now then, are you going to be a good boy, or-"

"I...I think I see Ae-"

But he was cut off as she crushed her lips to his again, forcing him backward with a slight cracking sound which he prayed _wasn't_ his spine.

_(So, let's see how Aerith and 'Jim-Jam' are faring)_

Well, while Tifa was doing horrible things to 'Greg', 'Jim-Jam' was coming along swimmingly, and Aerith had figured it was high time for her to give a final scenario to see how she'd answer. After all, the others, as drunk and Tifa-hating as they probably were by now, would come back any moment now, and 'Jim-Jam' would be put to the test.

"Okay," Aerith nodded, pacing back and forth by the edge of the pond, her left hand cupping her chin thoughtfully. "So, here's your real test. If you answer correctly, then you should do just fine. Alright, the whole group is together, and Cloud and I excitedly exclaim that we're going to be getting married. Everyone is sooooo excited for us. Everyone _except _Tifa. Now what would you, as Evil Tifa, do in a situation such as this?"

"'Jim-Jam' nodded, thinking for a moment as she toyed with the plastic tip at the end of one shoelace, thinking hard.

"Okay, I would... I'd plaster on a fake grin, say how 'happy' I am for you, then walk away muttering to myself about how I'll make you pay. And then I'd secretly head off, and take out a hit on you with the Turks... Uh, and _then_ I'd have sex with Reno... and Rude... _and_ Elena in order to further prove I'm an amoral hussy that doesn't deserve Cloud's love, let alone the right to continue living?" She guessed, thinking hard and trying to cover all bases on what the Evil Tifa method would be.

Aerith paused in her pacing, nodding once, sharp and official.

"Very good, 'Jim-Jam'. But, given the interaction between all of us in the last chapter, it has been established that you're _bad news_, so everyone is all wary and suspicious of you. What do you do in _this_ case?"

"Er... I go up to you, shrug theatrically, look towards some non-existent audience, and say, loud enough for all of you guys to hear, 'Is Tifa Lockhart gonna have to choke a bitch?"

Aerith nodded, and yet, there was a frown on her face at the reply.

"Good, good. All except for the part where you rip off that Chappelle's Show joke. I know we can't be witty and original all the time, but please, go for something a little more obscure than Chappelle's Show. You can't possibly hope to pass stuff like that off as being original or anything of the sort. And I'm honestly getting sick of hearing it. I swear, if I hear that shit one more time, I'll... Well, I don't even know what I'll do."

'Jim-Jam' just shrugged, brushing a little bit of lint from the sleeve of her jacket.

"Yeah, well, y'know. She's probably so evil that she doesn't care if she's being witty and original or not, yanno?"

"Well played. Gosh, I just love you to bits." Aerith nodded, causing her head to snap up, blinking rapidly, as if trying to clear her vision.

"You _mean_ it?" She asked excitedly, feeling a sudden rush of... what was it? Pride? Was that warm, excitable feeling she was getting from Aerith's compliments _pride_?

And here she felt she would never feel such a thing, having been designed as a thinly veiled knockoff of a nigh unstoppable villain (And by my rather obvious hint dropping, I'm sure we all know who 'Greg' and 'Jim-Jam' were somewhat designed after) and made obnoxious to the extreme, she didn't think she'd ever be able to feel anything save for scorn and hatred.

I mean, come on, when all the facts are in place, is it any wonder that she became such an insufferable bitch?

But Aerith didn't think so. Aerith liked her. So maybe-

"Aerith? What are you doing up at this hour, and _alone_ with _Tifa_?" Cloud asked skeptically, causing the two women to turn, 'Jim-Jam' quickly snatching for her wig, hoping that they wouldn't notice, despite the fact that they had already been caught. The rest of AVALANCHE was standing there, weapons in hand, ready to off Tifa for no real reason other than their rather sudden and overbearing hatred for the 'slutty', 'undermining', 'whore'.

And hey, if you hate Tifa, and _love_ Cloris stories, then what _better_ way is there to needlessly kill two birds with one stone? I mean, wow, that's just a one-two punch you can't _possibly_ pass up!

"Oh come on. Do you have to say T- I mean _my_ name with that much scorn? Crap dude, I haven't even done anything reprehensible, save for question your sexuality." 'Jim-Jam' sighed, rolling her eyes as she nonchalantly put her wig back on, readjusting it slightly, trying to get it to sit just right on her head, disregarding all their stares.

"Are you... are you sure that's Tifa?" Nanaki ventured, glancing up at the others, and possibly giving 'Jim-Jam' the reason to 'start in on him', that he hadn't given her last chapter. "I mean, the wig, the stutter when mentioning herself, the utter confusion at the situation..." He trailed off, shrugging slightly.

'Jim-Jam' sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Of course I'm Tifa! I mean come on! What would some fake-out Tifa impersonator hope to gain by coming in here to deceive you all? I'm just kind of upset and taken aback that all of you, with the exception of Aerith, are treating me so unfairly for no readily explicit reason." She protested, hands falling to her hips scowling.

"And you don't _smell_ like Tifa. 'Cause, y'know, I know this stuff because, I'm, like, a lion-thing or something, and you should all acknowledge my vastly superior senses." Nanaki went on, nodding sagely, as if he was the all-knowing force in deciding whether or not she was the real deal.

"I am _so_ totally Tifa! I mean, I'm just trying to re-invent myself here! Why can't I try to take on bold new styles! I'm _bored_ with having you people think poorly of me and my short, short skirts, just because _I_ have the legs for it!"

"And why are you so bitchy? I know that Aerith's revival is kind of a sore spot, and we're mysteriously inclined to hate you just because, but, I mean, this _is_ a bit much, isn't it?"

'Jim-Jam''s eyes narrowed, lips pinching together in a tart little frown.

"Wha... I _told_ you not to give me a reason to start in on you! When I was orphaned and all alone with a pack of villainous wolves, I _ate_ things like you for every meal of the goddamn day! So don't you _dare_ push it unless you want me to pop out your other eye and eat it like a cocktail olive!" She snarled, advancing a step towards him menacingly, noticing, belatedly, the way that Aerith was making an anguished face at her responses, trying to get her to back off and get back into character.

And it was no good to be bringing up her uber-angsty past, when nobody had wanted to hear it the first time around, especially now, when it had _nothing_ to do with Tifa's past.

She blanched, straightening up and stifling a faked cough behind her hand, her gaze darting back and forth shiftily as she tried to think of something stereotypical to get them off her case.

"Ah... that is to say, uh... bouncies?" She tried hopefully, bringing her arms out to her sides and hopping lightly, causing her breasts to shift under her tight, tight t-shirt, offering all of them some rather attention-whoring fan-service.

They all stared at her in slightly confused shock, while Aerith, cringing at her spot next to Cloud, threw her a tentative thumbs up.

"Nope, never mind. That's definitely Tifa. Nobody else is that much of an attention grubbing whore." Cloud sighed, shrugging towards the others. "Now come on. It's time for some Tifa bashing. Literally." With that, he raised his sword, preparing to do the world a favor and kill that ugly, conniving whore, and then, within the span of five seconds, wrap everything up with a little _American Graffiti_ style ending, saying that he and Aerith went on to get married, have, like, eight sets of twins, and dance on Tifa's grave each and every night.

Oh... crackers.

This can't be good.

So much for all of Aerith and 'Jim-Jam''s well thought out scenarios.

And 'Jim-Jam' knew she was in a tight spot. After all, all the coaching Aerith had given her was quickly going straight to shit, and 'Greg' and Tifa were unavailable to help. Even Aerith, who was trying desperately to pull Cloud back, her protests falling on deaf ears, seemed totally at a loss on what to do to pull the unseasoned protagonist out of such a predicament.

But luckily, _luckily,_ 'Jim-Jam' refused to shut the Hell up and run, which was obviously the better plan. And why would she decide to go out shooting her mouth off?

Because she wanted to prove that she could be a really good fake Tifa if she put her mind to it. She had to make Aerith _proud_.

Well, that and I don't know what else to do to make this a dramatic confrontation. I never read these stories without rolling my eyes at how ill-conceived they are so, y'know, just work with me here.

"Hey, what good is killing me going to do! Don't I have the option of going peacefully on my merry way, and sending you two the occasional Christmas card! I mean, Christ, just who the fuck do you think you are!"

Cloud lunged forward, grabbing her by the collar of her jacket, bringing his sword up, ready to smash it down and cleave her skull in two, just to see if it was really as empty as they all thought it was.

However, as he moved to deliver the killing blow and protect the love of his life from any perceived threats this Hell-beast could possibly pose to them, he couldn't resist getting in one final, _hilarious_ pop-culture reference.

"I'm Rick James, bitch!" He sneered, doing a god-awful Dave Chappelle impersonation, the blade coming down to kill her and end some threat that was totally not presented in the story line.

However, the dramatic ending was thrown completely to shit as Aerith grabbed him, hauling him away from 'Jim-Jam' and hurling him into the pond that had, until recently, been her watery grave.

Everything ground to a screeching halt, as Aerith stomped over to the edge of the pond, seething, waiting for her blonde lover to surface, her face a mask of uncharacteristic anger.

Finally, Cloud broke the surface, gasping and sputtering, turning bewildered eyes on the Ancient, who was pointing at him accusingly.

"_That_..." She started venomously, shaking with rage. "Isn't **_funny_**. I've had enough of you, and that stupid show! Bad enough that you were going to kill Tifa for some anti-Aerith deeds she didn't even have a chance to get around to doing, but you _had_ to do that Rick James line, didn't you?"

"But it's funny!" Cloud wailed in protest, trying desperately to stay afloat and hold onto his bad-ass sword at the same time.

"Not anymore! Not coming from _you_!" She shot back, hands on her hips. "That's it. The wedding's off until you promise you won't kill Tifa, and you can come up with witty, original one-liners."

With that, she turned in a huff, seeing all of the others standing there looking heart-broken, and 'Jim-Jam', mysteriously, had taken the chance to cut and run, finally seeing her opening.

"I can't believe that bitch forced you two to break up!" Yuffie sighed indignantly, clutching her shuriken in a white-knuckle grip. "We ought to track her down and-"

"It wasn't her fault! It was Cloud's!" She seethed, pointing at her half-drowned blonde beau, whose hair was soaked and plastered across his eyes.

"Oh, come on Aerith!" He tried frantically, taking in more water than air with his next breath. "'Let's mosey' was witty and original, right? Am I right?"

_(Wow, I totally should have made this Tifa and Aerith's Bogus Journey)_

'Jim-Jam' ran, trying to get back to where she had left 'Greg' and Tifa, hoping that the situation awaiting her wasn't as bad as 'Greg''s distressed, cowardly shrieks had made it sound.

Though, not far into her retreat, she found 'Greg' kneeling on the ground, looking shaken, yet at the same time, sheepishly gratified.

"'Greg'! Are you okay?" She asked making her way up to him, glad to see that he was still alive. Of course, she had no idea what Chapter 9 had been like for him, so she had no clue if he had been in any sort of life-or-death peril.

Though, aside from his duster being gone, the blood running down his chest, and the unruly, rumpled state of his hair, he seemed no worse for the wear, really. Though it _did_ look like he had been near tears. And, for some reason she wasn't privy to, his right hand was gripping at the waist of his pants, and he was searching rather futilely for something, picking through rocks and little pieces of crushed shells in his search.

"Uh yeah, I'm... fine." He nodded, gaze shifting left and right uneasily, as if worried that somebody would pop up out of nowhere and try to call him on his rather blatant lie.

"What happened to you? And where's Tifa?"

'Greg' looked up at her and sighed, standing up, not bothering to brush off his pants, because, after all, nothing could sully his kickass white outfit.

"Nothing much. She, ah, got out of the bag, started getting all crazy-OOC and handsy on me, and after yanking on my hair for a while and shouting about her plans to get revenge on Aerith, she... well, long story short, she bit one of my nipples off."

Oh.

My.

God.

_Gross_!

'Jim-Jam' stared at him in horror, at a loss for words as her eyes immediately turned towards his chest, seeing that his words did indeed ring true. Her face slowly contorted into a look of utter horror, and it was silent between them, 'Jim-Jam' not really wanting to go into any details on the rather gruesome battle wound, and 'Greg' really not really sure if there was any non-gross way of explaining how it happened.

"How'd she manage that?" Finally, her curiosity got the better of her, and she just couldn't go without trying to find out.

"Well, you see... She had me forced down on the ground, trying to have her way with me out of some obscure reason about being a total slut in this genre, and while she was, ah... trying to have her way with me, I panicked and shouted that I thought I saw Aerith over that way. She was erstwhile... occupied at the time, and see, I hadn't really thought that she'd, y'know, gnash her teeth in rage at the mention of Aerith. So she kind of ran off that way, I've been, ah, looking for it for a while. That, and the buttons for my pants." He explained awkwardly, blushing a little from embarrassment and not quite meeting her gaze.

Not wishing to really get any more information than her oddly platonic fellow assassin had already offered, she patted him awkwardly on the shoulder and stood back up, looking for Tifa. But good gravy, it had to have been rather bad if 'Greg' was all shame-faced and uneasy, given how he usually was about the other woman. He was usually all churlish monologues and unwholesome schemes, not stuttered explanations and sheepish looks.

Not that one little, traumatic set-back would stop him though.

'Jim-Jam' saw the martial artist standing in some rather thick underbrush, looking around in confusion, as if she had all of a sudden forgotten why she had jumped in among the bushes and creepers in the first place, but didn't want to leave in case she suddenly remembered what she was looking for.

"Uh, Tifa?" She tried, making her way over to her, causing our darling protagonist to turn, a look of confusion scrunching at her features.

"Hey," She nodded, a bit distractedly, glancing over her shoulder, left hand kneading at the back of her neck as she looked around, trying to figure out her little mystery. "You have any idea what happened? I kind of blacked out back there, and now everything's just a big blank. I remember breaking up with Billy the Kid, but that's about it."

"We, uh, ended up in an anti-Tifa situation. You saw Aerith come back to life, and you just went totally batshit, so-"

Tifa froze up at her answer, turning suddenly frantic eyes onto her.

"Oh fu..." She bit her lip and pulled a face before shaking it off, looking her over worriedly "I didn't... y'know _do_ anything needlessly evil did I?"

"Uh... well, you bit me, ranted for a while, and you ah... attacked 'Greg' while I ran off to save the day as your stand-in. _And_ through some rather underhanded means, Aerith broke up with Cloud until he could make some changes. I really had no idea that they all hated you so much. I thought you got along with just about all of them, y'know? That was half the reason I hated you so much, because you were that dazzling little ray of sunshine and magic in their lives, and I was filled with disgust and jealousy."

Tifa was obviously mulling her words over, nodding a little.

"It's the author that hates me in these situations. No cordiality, just twisting everything so the characters totally mirror their opinions of me. Oh, and if there's another character they don't really like, sometimes that character will be on my side, but that's about it." She shrugged it off after a few more minutes of pondering, nodding to her. "So how did it go? Bad?"

"Oh yeah. A veritable crap-fest." She explained, shooting her a knowing glance. "I kept making these schemes to do the best I could, but it just never really came to fruition, and just went nowhere. Dude, I thought this crazy string of hijinks would be cool and fun. I nearly got my head chopped in half and lynched."

Tifa just brushed it off, patting her on the shoulder.

"Yeah, well, you can't win them all. It's my own fault for leaving you two to fend for yourselves. Let's go put everything back in the kidnapping sack, get back to the bar, and regroup for a bit so we can be ready to win them all back."

"Done and done!" 'Jim-Jam' nodded, glad that Tifa was surprisingly okay with her screw-up. She made her way over to the burlap sack and started shoveling armloads of swag back into it, hoping that the sooner they finished up and got out of there, the sooner all of the readers would totally forget that the 'genius' author had ever bothered with this cliché line.

Yep, that's right kids. Parts 12 and 13?

_Never. Happened._

Just play along, and things will be fun again in no time.

Tifa, back in her right frame of mind finally, started after 'Jim-Jam' but paused, as the excruciating pain in her head finally registered, now that she was no longer 'evil and nigh unstoppable until the power of TROO LUV (OMG eleventy-'leven!) managed to knock her the fuck out'.

She brought one hand up to the ridiculously severe wound, feeling the split line of bone there, blood congealing thickly around the wound, building up, while more blood continued to leak from the wound in a totally incongruous way, given the magnitude of the injury.

Jesus.

That sort of wound should have been enough to...

No, no. She was in fanfic land. If Aerith was able to survive getting run through on the Masamune under the premise of there being 'no blood' or 'OMG! People can get stabbed by long, thin instruments and survive!', then she could simply laugh off the _fissure_ in her _skull_.

But still...

"Cripes. The Hell did you guys hit me with? A midget in a suit of armor?" She asked, still running her fingertips gingerly along the wound, wincing.

'Greg' looked up from his searching to answer, wondering how she figured it to be an 'armor plated midget' wound, but before he could speak, there was a rustling noise, causing all three of them to turn, seeing Cloud storming through the trees, chopping through everything in his path, the others, save for Aerith, not far behind.

"There's that life-ruining whore!" Cid shouted, raising his torch, which, despite providing that little classy touch of lynch mob elegance, was completely unnecessary, since it was, like, two thirty in the afternoon.

But, y'know, presentation counts.

After a brief second of staring at the approaching mob, 'Jim-Jam' redoubled her efforts, trying to pack up faster so they could get out of there, while Tifa just stood, staring at them, seeing the way they stopped, looks of confusion on their faces as they looked between 'Jim-Jam' and herself.

"...Dear God, she's _multiplying_!" Yuffie gasped, stopping short, clutching her pitchfork close to her chest, eyes narrowing, though her comment threw Tifa for a loop.

"Oh, come _on_! We don't even look remotely alike!" She protested tiredly, shaking her head. "Don't tell me that, when I'm not around, you just take out your psychotic aggressions on anyone that happens to have a sizeable chest and long brown hair."

"And if we do?" Cloud challenged, scowling, boot scraping on the ground as he edged forward menacingly, trying to claw his still dripping wet hair from his eyes, cringing as the extra hold gel burned as it dripped into them.

Both sides glowered at one another, Tifa and 'Jim-Jam' wondering if they could beat the other AVALANCHE members, caught up, as they were, in their overly pretentious rage.

"Okay, everybody, just take it easy. I mean, you're going about this all wrong." 'Greg' started, climbing slowly to his feet, his missing vestigial body part forgotten about. "See, when things get tough, and a relationship goes bad, you can simply just blame it on Tifa, and decide that burning her with torches and stabbing her through the head with a pitchfork will solve your woes. Or, you can go back to Aerith, apologize, and try to win her back with puppies and romantic cards with chimpanzees on the front. And maybe, I'd apologize for trying to kill Tifa out of some poorly defined plot point. But I'm just saying, yanno. I'm not you. But just think about it for a bit, and decide if _this_ is _really_ the way you want to go about things."

At this, he put both hands up, wardingly, in a gesture of non-aggression on his part, just wanting to see this all blow over.

Unfortunately, with both hands up like that, neither keeping his pants held up around his hips, his pants promptly dropped to his ankles, causing him to look down in mortified embarrassment, his placating tirade ruined.

Oh, what a horrible day to go commando.

He quickly bent to get his pants back up, acutely aware of all eyes locked onto him, and, more importantly, what he was trying to cover up.

"Don't see what you're so embarrassed about." Cloud shrugged conversationally, causing 'Greg' to look up at him, eyes wide in shock and horror.

From her spot at the kidnapping sack, 'Jim-Jam''s head snapped up at the pseudo compliment, her jaw dropping.

"Dude! I fucking _knew_ it! You are gay! Probably for that guy!" She crowed victoriously, pointing at Cloud and Vincent.

Great, he almost had them. Oh 'Jim-Jam', why were you created to be such a bitch? It's not helpful in the least. Simply obnoxious. And in this situation, _severely_ detrimental.

'Greg' hitched up his pants hastily and scrambled towards Tifa and 'Jim-Jam' as the irate group started after them, shouting for blood. Luckily, Tifa actually knew what to do in these situations, and reached into the bag, pulling out the BB-gun and aiming towards them, causing them all to stop short, while 'Greg' kept running, taking refuge near 'Jim-Jam', and helping her shove all their worldly possessions back in the bag.

"Shit! She's got a gun!" Barret shouted warily as they all stopped short, not wanting to incite her rage, given that she had a rather non-lethal weapon in her possession.

But, come on, the bitch is dangerously crazy. Who _knows_ what she could do with that thing?

"Damn right I do! Now don't come any closer, or I could leave a welt on _any_ one of you! And if any of you have some sort of tin or aluminum can..." She trailed off ominously, a wicked glint in her eye.

"You _wouldn't_." Cid challenged lowly, lighting a fresh cigarette off of his torch, staring her down, though Tifa just shrugged, swinging the gun around towards Vincent, taking aim, and firing.

"Aw! My Shasta!" He gasped in horror as the weak projectile hit the can of pop he had been holding, puncturing a hole in it, the orange liquid fizzing out all over his claw.

Oh my gosh. Aren't I so random and funny? He, like, had a can of orange pop for _no explicitly apparent reason_! I am an effin' comedy mastermind!

"Oh, what now! I win the day, dumb ass!" Tifa shouted at them, victorious for once in this sort of situation, for, even as the rest of AVALANCHE started towards them, 'Greg' simply snapped his fingers, uber-powers getting them the Hell out of there finally.

The loss of their intended targets was all it took for their burning hatred to immediately stop, leaving them standing around restlessly, just staring at one another with little else to do at the moment, since lynching Tifa, 'Not very convincing Fake Tifa' and 'Greg' was no longer an option.

"So... uh, you guys want to order a Pizza or something?" Barret asked, despite the fact that they were in an isolated, derelict City, and there was most likely no Pizza places at all that would actually deliver there.

But then again, y'know, fanfic land.

"I don't care _what_ we do!" Vincent snapped grumpily, throwing down his ruined, empty pop can, sulking.

Well, it looks like things worked out fine. Tifa and crew managed to inadvertently make Cloud and Aerith break up, and Vincent is as miserable as ever.

END THIRTEEN ('Bout Damn Time)

Rest of the story will be fan-friggin'-tastic, I promise. I don't know why I did the whole 'taking already used jokes and applying them in a God-awful 'fic' was used in this chapter and not one about humor, but I had to do something to try and spruce this chappy up.


End file.
